


The Long Way Down

by MaurianasRavenholdt



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Batman Inc - Fandom, Bruce Wayne - Fandom, Dick Grayson - Fandom, Nightwing (Comics), Poison Ivy - Fandom, Robin - Fandom
Genre: Assault, Brutal, Guilt, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mystery, Rape, Survivor - Freeform, toxin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 30,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt
Summary: Poison Ivy introduces a new, terrifying toxin to Gotham. And it’s first victims are Batman and Robin





	1. Patient Zero

**Author's Note:**

> Warning:  
This content, particularly marked chapters, are brutal. Please heed content warnings. 
> 
> DC owns the characters. I drop them in my world.
> 
> Comments are ALWAYS welcome. This is some tough stuff, but I PROMISE I have a plan, and it’s not just violence for the sake of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings Apply. Brutal Rape Scenes and Emotional, Physical Trauma Described

The cave echoed as each droplet of water slid down distant stalactites and into puddles on the floor. Occasionally, the rhythmic sounds of the natural environment were broken by the screeching of a startled bat.

Dick sat, huddled by the imposing computer bank at the center of the cave, listening. His terrified and betrayed sobs had stopped reverberating over an hour ago, but he still couldn’t pull his legs under him to stand. The tatters of his workout clothes hung from his shivering frame, the cold stone around him siphoning away whatever warmth he had left. 

Deep in the recesses of his mind, filled with fresh pain and trauma, a single question echoed like the drops in the cave: What just happened? 

In response, his honed memory played the scene over and over in excruciating detail. 

—-

Batman had gone on patrol alone that night. And Dick was bored. After supper and homework, he descended to the cave, intent on using the trapeze below to alleviate the tedium of a barely occupied manor. He flew for what seemed like only a few minutes before the bat-mobile roared back to its home. Batman staggered out, and tore his cowl from his face, gasping and retching. Immediately, Dick ran to his mentor, steadying him on the way to the med bay, and sending an emergency signal to Alfred. 

“Isley” Bruce gasped, “New toxin”

Dick nodded, worry tightening in his belly as the older man wheezed and stumbled. 

At last, Dick guided Bruce onto the gurney, and Alfred hurried behind, efficiently drawing blood, providing oxygen, and stabilizing the ailing man before placing the specimens into the computer for automatic analysis. 

Alfred sighed, concern drawn between his brows. “These samples will take several hours to complete the analysis. I will ring Dr. Tompkins in the interim, so she can attend to Master Bruce - I assume you plan to stay by his side?”

Dick mutely nodded, intent on Bruce’s face, now held in a tortured expression as he fought against whatever war the toxin waged against his mind and body. 

Before departing, Alfred squeezed the boys shoulders. An attempt to reassure him. Then, silently, the old butler retreated. There was always so much to be done. 

Dick dozed by the bedside, his chin propped in his palms. Suddenly, he felt Bruce’s hand on his head. 

“Hey...chum” 

Eyes lighting up, Dick beamed, “you’re awake! You scared the shit out of us...”

His concern was cut off into a strangled gasp as Bruce tightened his grip in Dick’s hair, and used his other hand to squeeze the boy’s airway. 

“Language!” Bruce admonished, standing quickly and pinning Dick to the wall of the medbay, IVs and tubes snapping with the force. 

Bruce loosened his grip on the boy’s hair, keeping him in place by his neck. Dick dragged a tortured breath into his lungs “Bruce! Stop! S’me!” 

Grinning, Bruce leaned forward until his lips brushed Dick’s ear and whispered, “Oh, believe me. I know”

The gurney, monitors, and walls swam in Dicks blackening vision. He didn’t want to fight Bruce, especially because his mentor was clearly under the influence of whatever poison was coursing through his veins, but he had little choice. 

He swiftly brought his leg around Bruce’s knee, pulling hard, and bringing the larger man off balance. He took the brief opening to twist away from the hand clenched over his throat. Scrambling, he was nearly at the door before Bruce landed a brutal kick to his back, pinning him on he floor with his foot. 

The larger man knelt down, straddling the boys hips and pressing the air out of his lungs with his hands. This time, Dick couldn’t fight against the blackness washing over him, and he was subdued. 

He awoke to a searing, tearing pain in his shoulders as Bruce tied his arms tightly behind his back. His mind seemed thick, like the treacle Alfred had insisted he try for desert that evening. Dick couldn’t believe that things had been so normal only a few hours ago. 

As his senses focused, he felt cold tile against his thighs, his pants and shirt shredded and hanging at odd angles at the seams that were not so easily torn. 

And Bruce. Breathing hard, licking his lips, surveying his conquest for a moment before straddling him again; only this time, skin on skin.

Dick gasped and squirmed, fully aware that Poison Ivy’s toxins were often “aphrodisiac” based. Fully aware of what Bruce intended to do next. Rough hands tangled in his dark hair and yanked his head back, exposing tender flesh by his neck where Bruce sank a possessive bite, drawing blood. 

“Bruce! Fight this!” What Dick intended to be a stern command came out as a frightened shriek, his abused throat croaking out the words. For his efforts, Bruce rewarded him by slamming the side of his face onto the floor. Dick sobbed as he felt his cheekbone shatter. 

“I am in charge here” Bruce growled, low and unfamiliar. Then, without warning, he jammed two thick fingers inside of Dick. 

Incoherent from pain and terror, Dick pleaded and mewled, while the man he trusted more than anyone in the world brutally moved his fingers back and forth, in and out. 

Just as suddenly as he had begun, Bruce withdrew. His victim drew a shaky breath of relief. Too soon. 

Instead of fingers, Bruce pushed his hard, thick cock into his ward. Steady. Unrelenting. In and out, faster, more savage. Bruce’s breath became short, ragged. His moans overshadowed Dicks pleas. 

Finally, as the blood pooled between Dicks legs, Bruce came, shuddering and groaning with pleasure. 

Fighting for consciousness, Dick was certain he was mistaken when he heard Bruce whisper as he withdrew. “Oh god. No.”

But the whispers turned to horrified shouts as the toxin’s power over him faded. “Oh God! Dick! Oh God no no no...”

Bruce’s usually agile hands fumbled and tore at the restraints binding Dick, desperate to free him, to reassure him. 

As Bruce pulled the broken, bloody boy into his arms, sobbing and begging for him to be ok, Alfred and Dr. Leslie Tompkins rushed in, then froze as they beheld the monstrous scene before them. 

“Good Lord!” Alfred exclaimed, sliding on fresh blood as he knelt down to offer aid. His thin arms pulled the boy from Bruce’s grip, sheltering him from his attacker. 

Standing suddenly, as if a marionette, Bruce backed away, shaking his head, muttering. He turned and ran back to the batmobile, grabbing the forgotten cowl on the way before jumping in and speeding off. 

—-

The memories that came next were badly fragmented. Shattered, like the 5 ribs Leslie informed him were broken. They had noticed they blood and cum leaking out of him. They begged to evaluate him. He fought against them like a wild animal until Leslie suggested they give him some time alone. 

And there he sat, still. Though “alone” was a loose interpretation. Alfred shot concerned glances through the glass medbay door as he cleaned and repaired the damage done to the room and supplies. Dr. Tompkins was nearby, scowling into the computer screen at the results from Bruce’s bloodwork. 

The Batman had yet to return.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate bat-family is left reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again this is brutal. Less graphic, but very clear on aftermath. Steer clear if you need to.

Leslie pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a few deep breaths, steeling herself, like she does in the clinic. Rape cases always seemed to pull her soul from her body, taking a small piece each time. 

But this time it was Dick. A boy she loved as a grandson. Raped by the man she considered a son. The weight of it threatened to buckle her knees. 

She had only managed a cursory exam before Dick lashed out; terrified, confused, in agony. 

Shattered zygomatic arch. At least 5 broken ribs. Fractured hyoid bone. Contusions, deep and already purpling. Based on the high-impact bruising there were likely more injuries. He would need an X-ray soon. 

And so much blood loss. She was sure the internal tears would need repair, if not surgery. 

If this were the Clinic, she would have the boy on a back board, full neck brace, and sedated. But her heroes had never been good patients, and this case was exceptional in its sadism. 

Carefully, as if she were approaching a wounded, wild animal, she crouched down beside Dick. He looked so tiny and frail, his normally tanned skin - pale and sallow. 

She pitched her voice low, volume just above a whisper, “Dick, honey? I need to check your vitals - pulse, breathing and the like. I’ll explain everything I’m going to do before I do it, but I need to make sure...” 

She hesitated. She almost said “make sure you aren’t dying” but stopped short, fearing his reaction. 

Before she could continue, Dicks eyes focused on her face, and he even managed an apologetic smile before nodding. 

“I’ll start with your pulse then. I just need your wrist ...”

She worked around the deep ligature marks, relieved to find a steady, albeit fast, pulse. 

Next she listened to his chest with her stethoscope, trying her best not to press on the angry, broad bruises that patterned it. 

_Left lung ok. Right...diminished breath sounds. Add a partially collapsed lung to the list. _

System by system, Leslie carefully and slowly continued her evaluation. 

_Neuro responses normal, skin shows signs of massive bruising, x ray needed to confirm extent of skeletal injuries, heart sounds normal..._

“Dick, why don’t we get you some clean clothes in the medbay, and I can finish your exam? I just need some X-rays and to make sure you don’t need stitches...”

Panic washing over him again, Dick furiously shook his head “no”, the bite wound on his neck re-opening and seeping. 

“Ok, ok. I understand” Leslie patted gauze on the leaking wound, trying to meet his gaze. “What if we compromise? I’ll get my pictures, and we’ll see how it goes from there?”

If she could just get him to the medbay she could give him a hefty dose of Midazolam so he could rest, and she could make sure his bleeding had stopped. It felt deceptive, but she was out of options. 

Almost imperceptibly, Dick nodded, and attempted to pull himself to his feet, nearly falling before Leslie braced him, and helped him walk to the X-ray machine in the medical unit. 

The X-ray series was excruciating. Each angle and injury detailed and catalogued. It seemed to be hours before Leslie finished. At last, she reached for the vial of medication and pulled the appropriate dose into a needle. 

“Ok, honey, this will just help you relax and sleep. Your body needs to rest so it can heal. You will be safe and protected. I promise. Are you ready?”

Before Dick could fully protest, Leslie swabbed his arm and plunged in the needle, her tears threatening to form as the boy took a deep shuddering breath and then went limp. 

Now she could work efficiently. First a chest tube, to reinflate the damaged lung, and monitors to ensure his condition remained stable while sedated. Then the stitches. The tearing was atrocious, but largely superficial. Surgery wouldn’t be required. 

At last, Leslie cut the remainders of the tattered clothes off of Dicks sleeping form, gently sliding his arms into a medical gown and tucking him in with a warm blanket. 

Only then did she allow herself to sink down into a chair and sob. 

—-

Alfred heard his old friend weeping in the next room, but chose to keep his focus on the task of scrubbing the blood from the floor. He knew Leslie hated to appear self indulgent, and she would prefer privacy in such a vulnerable moment. 

He was also unsure he could contain his own emotion when faced with that dear boy, brutalized nearly beyond recognition. And Bruce, the unwitting perpetrator of such savagery - the grief and rage threatened to overcome him. So he scrubbed, the bleach fumes abrasive, keeping him in the present moment. 

Startling Alfred from his thoughts, the Batmobile once again roared back into place. Controlled, measured, Batman jumped from the seat and walked to the clear doors, which opened automatically. 

Alfred did not look up from  
his task. He hoped, perhaps, he could contain the storm of emotions brewing inside if he just focused on the needs at hand. But Batman cleared his own throat and addressed his butler directly, “Isley is in custody. I could use assistance with stitching some lacerations, if you’re available?” 

The gentleness of Bruce’s voice and request stunned Alfred. He looked up from the floor to see deep cuts in Batman’s knuckles. He had clearly expended some of his own rage on the villainess, or her cronies. 

Alfred stood and removed his bleach and blood stained apron, meeting the eyes of his surrogate son. “Of course, sir. Allow me a moment to wash up and then I shall fetch the suture kit” 

The unspoken words in the air made the atmosphere of the room so thick, Alfred felt as though he was struggling to draw breath. 

As Alfred flushed Bruce’s wounds with saline, washing away a chip of tooth from the unfortunate who connected with the Batman’s fist, Bruce winced slightly, then said flatly, “The toxin was made to intensify adrenaline and arginine-vasopressin, causing a sudden, violent outburst, along with Ivy’s trademark sexual signal enhancers. The effect is neutralized by an endorphin-dopamine-oxytocin release...”

“Essentially forcing good men to become rapists.” Alfred finished bluntly, avoiding eye contact. Though the explanation satisfied the logical questions, the emotional backlash was still too acute to overlook. 

“Essentially.” Bruce sighed before continuing, “How is he?” 

Curtly, Alfred replied, “Sedated” then abruptly trimmed the last stitch and stood to dispose of the refuse. At last he met his master’s gaze, “I am concerned about the propriety of your presence at the moment, sir. Master Richard is significantly injured and traumatized. He has several unstable fractures that could worsen if unexpectedly confronted with the source of the trauma...”

“Fractures?” Bruce interrupted, surprised and concerned. 

“Yes, sir. Left zygomatic arch. Ribs 5 through 10 on his right side, resulting in a partial pneumothorax. Spinous process fractures on T5 through T10. Fractures in the hyoid bone. Subluxations of both shoulders. As well as the obvious soft tissue trauma. To be blunt, sir, he was savaged by you”. Alfred let the information hang in the air, waiting for a response. 

“I...don’t recall any of that” Bruce began, “its fading like a nightmare...”

“A nightmare THAT boy will never forget, sir!” Alfred shot, stunned by his own anger. 

Bruce closed his eyes, confused, “I will... go and get some rest, then. Please alert me to any changes in his condition?” 

Alfred took a deep breath, suddenly ashamed of his outburst, “Yes, sir”

With echoing footsteps, Bruce was gone again. Alfred slowly returned to his original task, finally allowing the tears to fall.


	3. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce handles this latest trauma the way he always does - badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less explicit this chapter, content warnings still apply

Bruce could only give a small amount of his attention to Dick’s injuries, if he was honest. Isley almost always had an endgame beyond making him miserable, and he was certain this was just the beginning. Distractions could be catastrophic.

Dick would recover. He always did. Batman was needed elsewhere. 

He sank down into a half lotus asana to meditate; to rest. There was no time for sleep. But the deeper he ventured into his own consciousness on the way to nothingness, the more he was disturbed by images and sensations he found lurking there. 

_Dick, screaming, and the sickening crunch of bone against tile. Pleasure, intense release. And blood. So much blood. _

It had only been a few minutes before he was startled back to reality by the images, more shaken and exhausted than when he had begun. It didn’t matter; couldn’t matter. If he found no succor in meditation, he would go back to work. 

He situated himself in a large, wingback leather chair and opened his secure laptop, pouring over the read outs from his own blood specimens, as well as samples from Ivy’s lab. His gut told him there was something very important he was missing. But he couldn’t pick it out. He forwarded the data to contacts at Star Labs, hoping an expert biochemistry opinion might shed some light. He moved on to recent motives and associates, as well as the closed circuit monitoring of Isley’s cell at Arkham. He glared at her low-resolution sleeping image, trying to ignore the bubbling feelings of danger growing in him. And something else, more sinister. His shame grew as he identified the sensation; longing, primal urges. For his ward. It would seem the toxins effects weren’t entirely neutralized. 

He would keep his distance, he rationalized. Dick would be safe. He would keep him at arms length until more information about this came through. 

In the mean time, Batman needed answers from the source. He initiated a secure call to Commissioner Gordon. 

“Do you EVER sleep?” Jim answered with irritation, skipping customary greetings. Bruce was not in a jovial mood, and ignored the remark. 

“I need to talk to Isley. Now.”

Jim sighed, his long-suffering eye-roll practically audible, “You at LEAST have to own a damn clock. It’s 3am. She is in custody. It can wait.”

“It wasn’t a request. Be at the asylum in 20 minutes” 

“Make it thirty and I’ll bring coffee...” Jim trailed off as Bruce disconnected. 

Back down to the cave, back in the suit, nearly to the ‘mobile. Alfred called to him before he took off. 

“Master Bruce! Dr. Thompkin’s fears the young master may be deteriorating. The damaged lung has begun bleeding and is putting strain on his heart...”

Batman growled. He didn’t have time for this. 

“Can Leslie handle it here?”

Alfred was taken aback by Batman’s indifference, “I believe so, sir, but I think you should...”

“Then it can wait” he interrupted, sliding the door shut and igniting the engine before tearing out of the cave. 

In a whisper, Alfred replied to the emptiness, “I certainly hope it will, sir.”


	4. Unfurling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isley talks, but her information asks more questions than it answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW allusions to rape/underage, institutions

Steam and smoke swirled together above Commissioner Gordon as he waited in the chilly autumn air with a cigarette and a coffee. He glanced at his watch. 3:33 am. Batman was...late? Maybe he dreamt the call after all. 

He took a final drag and dropped the lit cigarette to the pavement, squashing the ember under his heel. He checked his watch again. 

“Am I keeping you from something important?” Batman’s unmistakable growl came from the shadows. 

Jim cleared his throat. “You were 3 and a half minutes late. I was about to dredge the river for your corpse.” Batman simply grunted, so the Commissioner continued, “Can we get this over with so I can get back to bed? Been working extra today. Uptick in violent assaults. I’m sure you noticed.” 

No response that time, so Jim led the way under the old stone facade and into the facility. 

Arkham had a hell of a reputation, but modern times had softened the approach to mental illness, and as they left the gothic exterior behind, they were greeted by low lights, warm colored walls, and the smell of lavender disinfectant. 

The nurse at the door smiled wanly, clearly unamused by the new 24 hour visitation policy for non-violent inpatients. 

“Name?” She asked, pen poised above a half filled sign in sheet. 

Batman and the Commissioner exchanged glances, and Jim looked back at the nurse with an exasperated expression. “We’re here to question Pamela Isley. I cleared it with the charge nurse about half an hour ago...”

“Hmm.” The nurse hummed and rapped her pen on the desk, a gesture of irritation. “We don’t typically allow visitors to our more secure wings at this hour. I’ll need you to fill out an exemption form, and if the exemption is accepted by the Dean here you can receive clearance in 5-7 business days. We’re currently out of that form, but you can access it online...” 

Jim sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. “Look, Miss, I’m Commissioner Gordon. I called 30 minutes ago and spoke to the charge nurse, her name was Karen. We are not here on a social call, and if you really push me I can call the judge and get a warrant that forces you to let us talk to Isley. Or you can just buzz us back and not waste the time of the goddamned Batman, and the man in charge of ALL of the police in Gotham city, who just wants to go back to bed!”

“Oh! You spoke to Karen? Then you’re good to go. I’ll open the secure doors for you, then you’ll have to check in at the security POD on the second floor...” 

Batman swept past the nurse to the door. His deep, threatening voice sucked the color from her face “Open. Now.” 

A harsh buzz sound followed immediately. Jim put his glasses back on, loudly commenting about the “damned bureaucracy”, trailing behind Batman as he cut a path to Isley’s room. They ignored the security checkpoint along the way. The guard stationed there appeared to know better than to stop them. 

Inside the small but homey room, Pamela slept, looking tiny in the institutional pajamas. 

“Isley. Wake up!”

Batman was already shouting. Jim cursed under his breath. He should’ve stayed home. 

Slowly, with a smirk, she sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, lingering with a long stretch and a yawn, unbothered by the Batman’s display of temper. 

“I was wondering how long it would take. Where’s the little bird? Not so little anymore, though. Right?” 

Batman gritted his teeth hard enough for Gordon to hear it across the room. “You will tell me EVERYTHING about this new toxin. Effects, antidotes, and what you were planning with it. Now.“

She raised an eyebrow, “Your anger tells me you are already aware of some of the effects. And the fact that you’re in my room tells me you are also aware of the... denouement.” She smirked, enjoying the power her knowledge gave her over Batman. “I hope you didn’t... ruffle too many feathers. Birds can be very fragile.” 

Batman moved before Jim even registered something was happening. The vigilantes gloved hands heaved Pamela up and pinned her to the wall, knocking off a plastic mirror and a few sketches of plants. Isley laughed triumphantly, then gasped as Batman leaned onto her chest, making it hard to draw breath. 

“Looks like my aim was true, huh, Batman? But the worst isn’t over. Oh, far from it. I hope, for his sake, you killed him. Because eventually someone will. You can’t stop it.” 

Batman released his grip and stepped back letting her drop to the floor. 

“Men,” she scoffed, “you cant control yourselves. You’re disgusting. It’s high time you turned to other men for your prey. Leave women alone.”


	5. Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pieces start to fall together, but is it fast enough to save them all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs apply as always. Comments are always welcome!

Anger boiling over, Leslie threw her bloodied gloves into the trash and tugged on fresh ones. “I’m going to need your help after all, Alfred. I can’t place the damn arterial line, his BP is all over the place...”

Alfred pressed his forehead against Leslie’s, an intimate gesture shared for ages between the two friends. “Rest Dr. Tompkins. You’ve been doing this for hours. I have placed a line in a soldier on an airplane, under fire, before we had plastic tubing. I’m fairly certain I can handle this on my own.” 

Shakily drawing breath, Leslie nodded. “It’s those damn ribs, shifted when I decompressed the lung... I should’ve...” 

Alfred interrupted, “What you should be doing, Madam, is restoring your stamina. I shall do what is needed for now”

She nodded, washing at the sink in the anteroom while Alfred stepped into the procedure room and collected supplies. He was shocked to find himself suddenly lightheaded - injuries such as these never evoked such a visceral response before. But no, this was something else. A smell in the air...

He ignored it, breathing past the unsettling floral odor and setting to work, swabbing the boy’s wrist with iodine several times. He pulled off the finger of his glove, palpating for an open artery to place the large cannula... 

Without thinking, automatically, he removed his entire glove, stroking Dicks arm it’s full length, feeling each small, fuzzy hair like a tiny electric shock. Not uncomfortable, pleasant. 

Pleasurable. 

Suddenly sick to his stomach, Alfred backed away, falling over a stool and a cart, crashing to the ground. Leslie rushed in, steadying him. Before she could ask what had happened, he whispered, unsteady and wavering, “Move me away from him, now. He’s not safe with me. Something is wrong”. 

“I...I can’t. Did you get the line in?” Leslie’s confusion competed with her fear. Something was very wrong, indeed. 

“No. No. I do not know what has happened. There is more to this toxin than is apparent.” Alfred was terrified. What he had felt, what he had imagined, was violent and disgusting. 

“I’ll just have to chaperone you, then. You need to do this. I don’t think he’s stable enough to get him to someone else who can. Treat it like combat. Do the job, Alfred. I won’t leave you. ” 

He closed his eyes a moment, mentally reciting “God Save the Queen”, just like when he used to train against truth serum, in the service. He could do this. There was no choice. 

Leslie pulled him to his feet and retrieved another kit. She did the preparatory cleaning, and identified the collapsing artery. Alfred steadied his hands, took a deep breath, and drove the needle in. He held his breath as he secured the cannula, got a sample, and attached the monitor. He promptly stumbled from the room and vomited in the sink. 

Leslie finished securing the tubing, pushed medicine through the PICC line she placed earlier to stabilize the boy’s BP, then exited to room and tentatively placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. 

“I need fresh air, I’m afraid” Alfred said, fighting against another wave of retching. 

Confused, wide eyed, Leslie simply nodded as Alfred trotted off to a far corner of the cave, sank to his knees, and sobbed.


	6. Gilded Cages

Gordon chased after Batman as he stormed from Isley’s room and away from her screaming, “I will protect Mother Earth and her daughters!” Over and over again. 

The nurse at the front desk tried to stop them on the way through the door, “You need to sign out...”

Batman pushed past, knocking the clipboard from her hands. 

“A tip, Miss? Learn to read a goddamned room.”  
Gordon’s sarcasm was a poor screen for his fear. It was never a good sign when the Bat was this pissed. 

As the black clad figure started to stride away into the shadows, Gordon called after him “Batman! Wait!” He was stunned when the vigilante halted, and turned his head over his shoulder. 

Jim seized the rare opportunity. “Is the boy ok? Does he need protection? Can the GCPD help? If he’s in danger and you do nothing, God help me...”

“I am his protection” each whispered word was as sharp as a dagger, cutting Gordon deep with concern. Before he could reply, Batman was gone. 

—

On trembling legs, Alfred stood just as Batman returned home. Bruce’s anger faded as he saw the older man stumble as he walked towards him. Steadying him by his shoulders, and fearing the worst, Bruce stooped to look his butler and confidant in the eyes, “Is it Dick, is he...?”

Inhaling sharply, Alfred adjusted his suit and stood to full height, “Stable, sir. Though there are some developments about which you should be made aware. I fear whatever toxin this is has somehow...spread to Master Richard, sir. As if he is suddenly some nexus for violence and assault. I was overcome by the most disturbing and grotesque fantasies while attempting to care for him for only a few moments. Had I not been extracted from the situation by Dr. Thompkins, I fear I may have been compelled to act on those images. It was horrifying, sir.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, piecing together the limited data he had, trying to gather more, “But Leslie has been in direct contact for hours with no effects?” 

Alfred nodded in assent. 

“Any information from Star Labs?” Bruce continued. 

“Not as yet, sir. But I took the liberty of forwarding the biochemical information to Mr. Fox as well. He is performing a detailed investigation as we speak and will be in touch as soon as he has completed his analysis. Was your outing fruitful?” 

Bruce sighed, “I don’t know. I took Gordon to interrogate Ivy. She seemed... incoherent, raving at times, but at others it was as if we were acting exactly according to her plan. We should call Barbara to come and relieve Leslie. You should have no additional contact with Dick until we know more.” 

“How can you be so sure Ms. Gordon won’t be affected as well, sir?”

Bruce turned looking over his shoulder to answer Alfred before continuing to the computers, “She’s a woman”.


	7. The Devil in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The analysis is complete. And the results are alarming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a science-heavy chapter. Setting up a lot of what comes downstream.

With Barbara’s help, and a little time to rest, Dick was finally out of he woods. Still sedated, still receiving blood products and oxygen, but the threat of death had largely passed. 

In the cave, Alfred, Leslie, Barbara, and Bruce video-conferenced with Lucius Fox. 

“The compound has selective binding for sex-specific hormones. When it binds testosterone, it changes downstream aggression pathways, among others. When it binds estrogen, it just washes out. This was specifically designed to effect men only”

“The first person to receive the toxin, we’ll call him patient zero, would suffer massive, uncontrollably violent and sadistic urges. Anyone who gets in his way before phase one is complete is a target. At this point, the main function of the toxin is to ‘infect’ the next patient downstream, patient 1, the target of the first assault” 

Barbara sat crosslegged on the floor, taking notes. She wrinkled her brow in thought, then raised her hand as if this were a university lecture, not a case briefing. “But men produce varying amounts of testosterone AND estrogen. Women too. And post menopausal women produce next to no estrogen above baseline...”

“And in those situations, we don’t have enough data to predict an effect. But it’s reasonable to assume a man in his prime would experience a more intense effect than an older man with lower testosterone levels”

Growing impatient, Bruce interrupted “This is all very... academic. But at this point I am less concerned with ‘why’ and more interested in ‘what happens next’.”

Lucius shrugged apologetically at Barbara before continuing, “Patient 1, through sexual contact, is exposed to a metabolite of the original toxin. As a result, they begin to produce something that is akin to a pheromone. Any male in the immediate airspace of patient 1 will experience a transient effect similar to the effect experienced by patient zero. The good news is this effect on patient 2 will fade if he is not in close contact with patient 1. However...” 

The bed alarm blared and echoed in the cave. The group looked up to see Dick, limping, dragging his IV pole behind him, a lopsided smile shining behind his bruises. “Didn’t want to miss the party.” 

Bruce was terse. He waved a dismissive hand and ordered, “Barbara, Leslie, get him back to the medbay. Make sure he stays put. Sedate him again if you have to, I don’t care. This is not his concern.” 

Stunned by the lack of empathy, lack of relief that he was up and about, Dick protested, “Bruce, look at me! I think it concerns me a hell of a lot!” 

Leslie placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “You really shouldn’t be up, yet. Your lung is unstable, it needs a little more time before you start pushing the limits. There will be plenty of time to argue later.” 

Fighting the tears threatening to fall, and shaking his head, Dick complied, allowing Leslie to help him back to the gurney. Once he was out of earshot, Lucius continued, “He deserves to know, Bruce. It’s the only way he can protect himself until we can get this out of his system. Because every man he shares close space with will try to rape him again. And if they complete the attack, they become ‘contagious’, just like patient zero. And permanently aggressive. Patient 2 becomes nothing more than rage, and need, and violence. They will pass on the effects of patient 1 to many more people. And the cycle will continue - essentially changing the men in Gotham into one of two things, Rapists or Victims. Permanently.” 

“He can’t know” Bruce said with finality. “We’ll keep him here so it the effect doesn’t spread. But no one will tell him. Do I make myself clear?”

Barbara and Alfred exchanged ominous looks. “As crystal, sir”.


	8. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some semi graphic descriptions. Reader discretion advised.

Leslie was drawing more sedative into a syringe when Dick stopped her. “You don’t need that. I promise, I’ll stay put. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Opening her mouth, hesitating, then sighing, Leslie replied, “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Bruce about that, honey.”

He nodded, his expression souring, “Right. I’ll ask him as soon as he works up the courage to actually look at me” 

Leslie frowned, hating the lies by omission. She changed the subject, “Are you having any pain? Breathing ok?” She pulled her stethoscope up to her ears and listened to his chest. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sick of being in here. I’m sick of everyone avoiding me. But the pain is manageable. Breathing is fine. Swelling in my face is obnoxious. And I’m surprisingly really hungry. That’s about it.” He met Leslie’s eyes as she finished listening to his lungs. 

“Well,” she began, “I’d like to monitor you here for a few more hours, finish getting these fluids in you, then you should be able to go to your room and rest. NO activity. You can lie in bed or go to the bathroom. That’s it. Agreed?”

Dick smiled and nodded, chuckling at her mother-henning. 

“In the meantime,” she continued, “what do you want to eat?” 

—-

In the other room, Bruce was wrapping up his conversation with Lucius, “Obviously we need an antidote to Dick’s condition as soon as possible. And we need to anticipate needing a counter agent in case anyone progresses to the ‘permanent’ stage, though that is lower priority, as I have no intention of letting this spread. Keep me informed.” 

Bruce cut off the transmission abruptly, exhausted. He didn’t have the energy for pleasantries. He glanced through the windows of the medbay, surprised to see Dick with Leslie, talking a mile a minute, smiling and giggling, devouring a sandwich. He looked happy. 

He looked...tempting. 

_That mouth would feel incredible. Warm and soft and sweet. His untamed hair brushing against skin, pushing him down until he gagged and begged for breath, denying him until he was limp and blue..._

Bruce shook his head violently, attempting to clear the nauseating images from his mind. 

“Are you alright, sir?” Alfred asked, noticing Bruce’s odd behavior. 

“Hm? Yes. Tired.” He replied, suddenly worried his butler might see through his lies to the dark fantasies plaguing him. 

With a small sympathetic smile, Alfred continued, “Master Richard wishes to return to his room for convalescence. Dr. Thompkins has medically cleared him, and is awaiting your approval.” 

Bruce nodded. “I want locks on the outside of his door. Check to make sure the wrought iron over his windows is intact. No visitors aside from medical checks. No phone calls.”

Stunned, Alfred shook his head, “Forgive me, sir, but that sounds less like convalescence and more like imprisonment! The boy has done nothing wrong!” 

Shrugging, Bruce leaned in close to Alfred, overshadowing him in an attempt to intimidate, “If that boy sets foot outside his room, he risks spreading the toxin and playing directly into Poison Ivy’s hands. I will not allow it. Is that understood?” 

Angrily, Alfred challenged him, “With respect, sir, if you simply explained the reasons for his confinement you would find him amenable to your orders without force. Haven’t you forced enough on him already?” 

“There is no debate, Alfred. Do it, or I will.” 

—-

Dick couldn’t understand it. He wasn’t planning on leaving. He had done nothing wrong. But the finality of the sound of the padlock clicking outside his door drove him to the edge of panic. Why would no one tell him what was happening? 

He snatched up the phone at the corner of the room, hoping to call Wally, or Donna to try and figure this out, connect to the outside world. He nearly threw the receiver when he discovered the line was dead. 

His whole body ached. He was scared, alone, confused. 

Sometimes he hated Bruce.


	9. Unfettered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is reaching his breaking point in confinement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW sexual assault, as always.

Nearly 5 days had passed. Leslie would bring Dick his meals, evaluate his healing, and provide him books, or sudoku. She was never permitted to stay long. Fifteen minutes and an angry knock at the door meant her time was up. 

One thing she never brought, however, was an explanation. 

Why was he suddenly a prisoner in his own home? Why did Bruce, and even Alfred, refuse to even speak to him? 

The monotony and unanswered questions threatened to drive him insane. The simple distractions Leslie brought couldn’t tear his mind away from everything that had happen, forcibly reliving every tortuous moment at the transition between “before” and “after”. 

He was examining his bruises in the reflection of a window when he heard a small “tap” - a pebble striking the glass. 

Squinting, scanning the area below, he saw 2 crouched figures. Donna and Wally. His heart soared. He wasn’t forgotten after all. 

_We have a plan_, Donna signed up to him,_ Be Ready_. 

As quickly as he could, he scooped up some clean clothes and changed. He found some old shoes under the bed and held onto them. 

_Ready as I’ll ever be_, he thought, excitement rising in his chest. 

Below, the sonorous doorbell rang. Dick pressed his ear to the floor, wincing as his ribs and back protested. 

“Hey, Alf! I wanted to visit my buddy! Where is he?” Motor-mouth Wally. He’d never make it past Alfred. What were they thinking? 

“I’m afraid, Master Wallace, that Master Richard is unable to entertain guests at present. Please call again at a later time.” 

The door started to creak, but didn’t shut. “Hey! Is now, later? Cause it’s been aaaaaages since I’ve seen him. Also, do you have a snack? I ran all the way here and I’m out of juice. I’d hate to have to WALK back to Star City, you know. Uncle Barry would be totally pissed if I missed dinner.”

Dick stifled a giggle with his hand. Classic Wally. 

His mood shifted suddenly as he heard the lock on his door release, then the latch, then a slow creak to reveal Donna in the hallway. 

“C’mon!” She whispered, “Wally can’t stall forever” 

Tentatively, Dick slid out of the doorway and the two of them carefully tip toed across the hall, and down the old servant’s stairwell into the kitchen, where the back door was standing open. Dick was almost overcome with how sweet the crisp, fall air smelled. Donna smiled , grabbed his hand and pulled him outside, into the cover of the large boxwoods that lined the perimeter of the back garden. 

“I’m going to carry you, we’re going to a safe house here in Gotham. Don’t make it weird” Donna said, explaining and chiding in a single breath. 

Dick managed a wide smile in spite of his broken cheek and shrugged, “How is it fun if it’s not weird?” 

She rolled her eyes and hoisted him up. Dick had to bite his lip to keep from crying out as she accidentally grabbed onto his healing ribs. 

“Sorry, Sorry!” She hissed, “Better?” 

As soon as Dick nodded, they were off, the wind soaring past his ears, and he was nearly in tears from happiness.

Freedom. 

Too soon, they landed, in an alley behind a disheveled apartment complex. Donna started climbing the fire escape, “Just a few floors” she urged, “we’ve got it all set up!” 

The abandoned studio had clearly been tidied up, with some salvaged furniture and food stocked in the main area. Dick grabbed Donna in a fierce hug, not containing the sobs of relief that poured out. “Thank you. Oh God, Donna. It’s so fucked up, everything is so fucked up...”

She patted a bean bag on the floor, motioning for Dick to rest. “You want a soda? Then you can tell me anything you want to. Anything you need to.”

They sipped in silence for a few minutes before Donna asked “What happened to you? A couple of days ago Wally was asking Batman about you, wondering where you’d been. Standard stuff. But we knew SOMETHING was really wrong when he told Wally it was ‘none of his business’ and to ‘leave Robin alone if you know what’s good for you’, that kind of stuff. That’s when we decided to spring you. But you look like hell. Who worked you over like this?” 

Dicks eyes darkened, and his attention turned to the tab on his soda can. He took a shaky breath, at last whispering “It was Bruce. Donna, he almost killed me. And he....” his breath hitched, “it wasn’t his fault, it’s not how you think. Poison Ivy, she’s developed a new toxin. He wasn’t himself but he, he...”

Donna reached out, putting a reassuring hand on her friend’s knee. “No matter what you say next, I will always love you, little bro. I’m here for you” 

“He raped me, Donna”

She dropped her drink and her jaw, hastily covering her mouth with her hand. 

“He...it wasn’t him. Not really. And as soon as it was over, and he came back to normal, he was horrified. But my God... and he hasn’t said a single word to me since. It was over a week ago. As soon as I was stable he locked me in my room and cut my phone line. He won’t let anyone talk to me.” 

Donna was silent. Tears streaming down her face. What could she possibly say to make this better?

At the worst possible moment, Wally barged in the room, loud and boisterous as always. 

“The Wall-man does it again! I gave him the run-around, got some SERIOUSLY epic snacks, elegantly gave him the slip and made it back in record time! C’mon, where’s my applause!” 

Donna sniffled and wiped her tears on her sleeve, “You are an idiot, Wally.” 

“Words hurt, babe. And, in my case, make me nauseous. Hey, what’s in escargot, exactly? I’ll... be in the bathroom.” Wally staggered a bit, waving hello to Dick before making his way to the toilet and shutting the door. 

Minutes passed in silence before Donna said “I should probably check on that dummy.”

Dick pulled himself to  
his feet. “I got it. I want to give him a hug too, honestly. I think you guys saved my life.”

“Again!” Donna clarified, chuckling to herself. Things were going to be ok. They had each other. 

Rapping gently on the bathroom door, Dick called lightly, “Hey, KF. You alright in there?” No response “I’m coming in, ‘kay? Make sure you cover your unmentionables.”

Dick slid through the open door and shut it behind him. Wally was sitting on the floor, knees to chest, shaking his head. 

“Hey. You did great. You deserve all the escargot in the world, man.” Dick sank down next to his best friend, shoulder to shoulder in the cramped bathroom. “For real, though. You ok?” 

Wally inhaled deeply, pinning Dick in a painful, biting kiss. As he broke off, he jammed Dick’s hand down his red track pants, digging his nails into his friends wrist before replying, “Never better”.


	10. Domino

Absently, Donna picked at some fuzz on her beanbag chair, trying to process everything Dick had gone through with Bruce. Her heart broke imagining the pain and isolation he must’ve felt after something that horrible. And she honestly hated Bruce more than a little. What happened might not have been his fault, but his shitty response absolutely was. Who even does that? 

Without warning, the hollow core bathroom door splintered off its hinges, and both boys tumbled out. Wally was landing lightning fast punch after punch to Dicks midsection, until Dick returned fire with a perfectly timed uppercut, forcing his friend to crumple onto the dirty carpet. But Wally was on him again tackling him and grinding his crotch against Dicks leg. 

Donna jumped between them both, kicking Wally away, protecting Dick, hand on her lasso. 

Dick’s blue eyes were wide with panic. He turned and ran to the window, out and down the fire escape. Wally tried to follow, but Donna subdued him with a knee to the groin. 

Suddenly shaking, Wally started hyperventilating. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. I don’t understand. I didn’t mean... oh shit. Donna I hurt him, oh fucking shit. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him.” 

A horrible realization washed over Donna. “Bruce wasn’t being an asshole this time. Dick’s...contagious, or something. Making people go berserk. That’s why he was locked up. We have to go after him, now!”

“No,” Wally pulled himself to his feet, “We fucked up, Donna. We have to call Bats. Tell him what we did. What happened. This is bigger than us now. “ 

Breath hitching as she tried to swallow the sobs that threatened to escape, she replied, “We can’t. Bruce hurt him, too. Only worse. A lot worse.” 

—-

Running on training and instinct, Dick scaled down the fire escape and took off,  
Taking in his surroundings as he sprinted away. 

Somewhere near the narrows. Fantastic. 

Distantly, he heard Wally calling after him. 

His best friend. His attempted rapist. 

The whole world was losing its damn mind. He ducked into a shaded alley, crouching behind a foul smelling dumpster until the voices faded away again. 

The sun was going down, casting a vibrant red glow in the sky. He relaxed back onto the pitted brick wall behind him, gulping down the polluted air, trying to process everything that was happening. None of it made sense. First Bruce, now Wally. And Wally has never been in contact with Ivy’s toxin. 

She must be releasing it slowly somehow, he reasoned, water or food, or something. Anybody could be affected now. 

That would make getting somewhere safe much harder. Safe. Was there anyone who didn’t seem poisoned already?

Leslie for sure. She spent ages with him over and over without issue. And Donna, maybe. 

But Leslie would call Bruce the minute she saw him, and Wally was with Donna. If he could get out of Gotham, get to one of the other Leaguers, like Clark or Barry, they could hide him until some kind of antidote was found for the people in Gotham. 

_Coward_, he admonished himself. He couldn’t leave, not while so many were at risk like he was. Not while his best friend was under the influence of a substance that could make him do something that would destroy lives. 

But was it so wrong to think of himself first, for once? 

As the light in the sky faded completely, he heard the usual sounds of the Narrows echoing against the brick and pavement in the windswept alley; drug dealers and rent boys, night shift workers and homeless people. The mundanity of it was relaxing. He dropped his head to his knees, falling into a light, disturbed sleep, huddled out of view behind the muck and metal of the dumpster. Answers would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for the comments and Kudos so far! This is my first AO3 work and I am so encouraged by all the love. Keep it coming!


	11. Restricted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets called out on his shit. And the clock is ticking.

The tray of food and books wobbled in Leslie’s hands as she made her way up the stairs and over to Dick’s room. She begged Bruce, daily, to let the boy out. To explain to him what was happening. But Bruce was adamant. And when he was adamant, he was hiding something. The thought of more secrets was more than unsettling. 

She had already set down the tray and pulled out her key before she noticed it. The lock was crushed and torn from its hook, the latch was hanging in pieces. She knocked, then pushed the door open, her heart pounding. But the empty room confirmed her suspicions. Dick was gone. 

“Alfred, Bruce!” She called. Bruce came first, taking the steps 3 at a time. He growled as he examined the destroyed lock. Super strength - probably Donna or Garth. “His friends did this, Leslie. What the hell were they thinking?” 

“What were they thinking?!” She reflected back, stunned at how obtuse such a smart man could be sometimes, “They were probably thinking their best friend was falsely imprisoned by a man with a history of withholding important information and they wanted to help! It wasn’t defiance or petulance, it was a rescue! How can you not see that. YOU made this happen Bruce. We all warned you. And now Dick is out in the world, in danger, without the one piece of information that would have protected him.”

“This is not my fault!” Bruce shot, raising his voice, “Dick has been trained to follow orders without question! That is his sole function as Robin. If I see fit to keep him in his room by whatever means necessary, it is a flagrant dereliction to do otherwise!” 

Leslie shook her head. It was hard to comprehend the ‘logic’ she was presented with, “He’s a teenager, Bruce! His sole biological function IS to question orders.” 

“But that’s not it, is it?” She continued, “You could have spent time with him while he was sequestered. You could have talked to him - you should be immune to the pheromones now, according to Lucius, since you were the first target. What are you hiding?” 

Bruce’s anger evaporated, and his shoulders slumped. “I failed him. I hurt him. And I know, even if we get an antidote without any further incidents, he will never be able to fully trust me again. And I don’t even trust myself. Every time I see him now, Leslie, there is this... longing, horrifying desire, to hurt him again.” 

Leslie sat down hard on the edge of the bed, “I don’t understand. Your samples are clear, now. No trace of toxin. And you haven’t had any contact with Dick that might reactivate the effect...”

“Which is why I kept him out of sight. I had to be sure it wasn’t more toxin. I think... something shifted, was rewired as I attacked him. It was horrible and vile, but as I hurt him, destroyed him, I felt the most intense, incredible pleasure I have ever felt. I was... at peace. And the thought of that disgusts me. I’m so... ashamed.” 

The silence between them was thick. What could Leslie possibly say to that? She couldn’t dwell. Dick was in terrible danger and every moment wasted here was a moment Dick was exposed and without protection. More time that Ivy’s effect could be spread.

Alfred joined them in the abandoned room, the secure cell phone cupped in his hand. 

“Master Wallace is on the secure line, sir. He has information about Master Richard’s last whereabouts.”

Bruce snatched the phone, his voice a low rumble, “Talk”. 

“Hi Batman. It’s me, uhh, Kid Flash? We really screwed up. I’m so sorry. Robbie came with us to an apartment we fixed up for him to cool off but, he... I mean I... something happened. I almost really hurt him. It was like I couldn’t... like it wasn’t really me. He fought back and ran off. We can’t find him.”

“Where!”, Bruce has fully switched to Batman’s voice and did not have time for a rambling explanation. 

“The abandoned Stonecroft complex? Near the Narrows? We didn’t know, is he going to be ok?” Wally’s voice cracked. 

“When.” This was like pulling teeth. Wally was sub hysterical. Barry should train his protege to give report better. 

“Well, we picked him up just after lunch, and he was only here for less than an hour before things got crazy...”

“He’s been MIA for over FIVE hours and you just NOW called me?” Bruce was furious, “Are you aware of how much ground he can cover in that amount of time?!” 

Bruce cut the phone call. Leslie and Alfred wore terrified expressions. 

“He’s been missing for the entire afternoon?” Leslie asked, confirming. 

Bruce nodded. “In the Narrows, of all places. We need to set up a search, now. Alfred, tell Batgirl to start an outward spiral from the abandoned Stonecroft apartment. I’ll cast a wider net, checking out safe houses and weapons caches throughout the city. If he doesn’t want to be found, this could take some time.” 

Leslie chimed in, “I’ll head back to the clinic. If he’s hurt, he might go there.” 

“And I’ll stay here, should he find his way back to the manor” Alfred volunteered. 

Bruce inhaled sharply and nodded. The unspoken wish resonated in the air. 

_I hope we’re not too late. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fan base is seriously amazing! Keep the comments and kudos coming!


	12. Strapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spread begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is intense. Content warnings in full effect. Extremely graphic and explicit depictions of rape and violence.

He was shivering when he woke up. The early fall air had turned cold at night, and his thin t-shirt offered little protection against the elements. But the sleep had cleared his head a bit. Enough to try and make a plan. 

He would work his way back to the manor and demand answers. He couldn’t make any decisions without more information - information Bruce was deliberately withholding. 

Crawling out from behind the dumpster, he stood and stretched, taking in his darkened surroundings, finding his bearings. 

At the opening of the dead-end alley, a group of men, eight or 10, were brawling. It looked gang related - not uncommon in this part of town. If he kept his head down and kept moving, they should leave him alone. They had codes, after all, and nobody would beef with a stranger in the middle of a turf squabble. 

Dick sank his hands in his pockets and fixed his gaze on the pavement, hunched a bit to make himself seem as small and unimposing as possible. He tucked himself behind the group, out of the alley and down the street. He had only gotten a few paces away when he heard them yelling after him. 

“Hey hey, pretty boy! You don’t belong here, do you? Don’t ignore us, you stuck up fag!”

And another one, “Look at that tight ass. Damn, I’m straight, bro, but that looks fucking delicious!” 

Dick didn’t even spare a glance over his shoulder before bolting off, spurred on by the sounds of their feet on the pavement behind him. 

He heard it before he felt it. The thunderclap of gunfire. Then a bullet tagging him in the thigh, sending him sprawling to the ground. 

Their hands were on him, over his mouth, under his shoulders, dragging him out of the streetlight and back into the alleyway. Ripping and pulling his clothes away. 

He might be hurt, but this was NOT happening again without a fight. 

He planted a kick under the jaw of a thug pulling off his shoes, and sunk his teeth into the hand clamped over his face. There were so many of them. Too many. Every blow he landed earned him several of his own. He stopped suddenly when he felt the ice cold  
metal of a 9mm against his temple. He closed his eyes as a leather belt was looped around his neck like a leash, and he was pulled up to his knees, the man in front of him digging the barrel of the gun into Dicks skin with one hand, and unzipping his pants with the other. 

“Open that fucking mouth.” The order came. “And if you bite me I will make you swallow your goddamned teeth, bitch.” 

Dick violently shook his head, holding his lips tightly closed. 

Behind him, another thug tugged up on the restraint, making Dick gasp and cry out in spite of himself. The man in front took the opportunity to push his hard cock into Dicks mouth. 

Circled around him, the other men worked their growing erections with their hands while the leader relentlessly pushed himself down Dicks throat, gagging him with each stroke. 

He was finding it hard to time his breathing against the onslaught, attempting to shift his body so he had more clearance, but another thug saw it as an opening, and penetrated Dick from behind. 

It took everything he had not to bite down in surprise and pain, the gun against his head a persistent reminder of the potential consequences. He could feel the partially healed tears ripping open again, worsening, with each thrust from behind. Slick blood ran down the insides of his thighs, mingling with the coagulating bits from the gunshot wound. 

He did his best to dissociate. He wanted to be anywhere but here. There was no fighting back at this point. To his horror, the gunman stiffened and shuddered. The cum filled his mouth, and before he could spit it out, a hand clenched over his mouth and nose. 

“Swallow, drink it down, boy”

He did as he was told, humiliated tears spilling down his cheeks. Another member of the gangs was waved into place, the gun changed hands, and Dicks mouth was forced open again. Bruises blossomed around his lips as they took turns raping his face. 

With each new attacker, the belt around his throat grew tighter, until it was impossible for Dick to draw breath. He was sure he was hallucinating when bright lights suddenly filled the alley, causing the men to scatter like roaches. No longer held in place by the violent assault, Dick collapsed to the ground.


	13. Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman’s secrets start to crumble. How much of his house is built on sand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW Medical trauma, rape trauma

Batgirl drove past the alleyway, at first. It was so close to the center of the search grid, it seemed unlikely Dick would have stayed put. But then she thought better of it. 

“WWBD - what would Batman do?” She muttered under her breath as she turned the motorcycle around so the headlight illuminated the darkened stretch of street. 

A group of men, jeering and partially undressed, crowded around a small figure. They blinked in surprise at the sudden brightness, then scattered, pushing past Batgirl, who was frozen in horror as she saw the target at the center of their attack. Dick, unmoving, naked, bruised and covered in blood and semen. 

“Batgirl to Batman, emergency here. I’ve found him in an alley 20 yards from the apartment but he’s... he’s not breathing.” She tried to push through the swells of emotion, trying to give report to Batman’s exacting standards, “Approximately 10 men were also in the vicinity, they scattered as soon as I arrived. Beginning CPR and awaiting instruction”

“Belay that” she couldn’t believe the reply in her comm. 

“Say again? Belay resuscitation?” While she waited for instructions she cleared Dicks airway and removed the garrote. He sputtered a little, then stopped breathing again. 

“Correct. You are to pursue and attempt to subdue the attackers. That is your top priority. If they get away they will continue to spread Ivy’s toxin. I’m 2 minutes out. I will provide resuscitation.”

Stiffly, Batgirl stood. She couldn’t believe what she heard. But orders were orders. She closed her eyes tight, saying a silent prayer for her friend, then ran back to her motorcycle and took off in pursuit. 

The first few were easy to find. Their pants around their ankles made them slow, obvious targets. Batgirl cuffed them together against a light pole and continued on foot, nabbing the next group huddled near an abandoned bodega, all of them gnashing and raving, out of their minds. She tallied them up; two unaccounted for. Circling back to her ‘cycle, she sped off to comb the surrounding areas again. 

Tires screeched as the Batmobile came to a halt outside the narrow alley. Batman shuddered, the smell of blood and sex overpowering for a moment, before running forward, cradling Dick, moving him into position. 

His airway was almost completely collapsed, and only the occasional wheeze escaped his lips. Batman opened an emergency trach kit and sliced a small hole in Dicks neck, then guided the dilator tube through the incision. He attached a ventilation bag and began pumping, checking for a pulse. He sighed in relief. It was weak, fast, and thready, but there. He wouldn’t need CPR. He opened a comm line.

“Gordon. I need emergency medical assistance for a John Doe at 244 Stonecroft in the Narrows. It has to be female paramedics and drivers only. I’ll explain later.” 

Within minutes, Jim and the ambulance arrived. The EMTs secured Dick on a gurney and loaded him into the back before pulling away, lights and sirens blaring.

“You’re not going with him?” Jim inquired, lighting a cigarette as he stepped from the patrol car. 

“The John Doe? No.” 

Batman volunteered as little information as possible. The theater of it all made Jim roll his eyes and scoff. “I may not be ‘The Worlds Greatest Detective’ but I’m not an idiot. I know that was Robin. What the hell happened? You promised an explanation.” 

Batman sighed. If Batgirl was unsuccessful in retrieving all the attackers,  
Gordon would need to know sooner or later. 

“Ivy’s toxin effects men only. Robin was set as one of the initial targets. He unwittingly produces a kind of pheromone that forces any men in his vicinity to brutally attack him. The assailants themselves, then, become permanently violent, seeking out other men to attack and contaminate.” 

“My God!” Gordon took a long drag, “What the hell was he doing in the Narrows, then? If that happened to my Barbara she’d be under lock and key.” 

“Robin was not made aware of this... condition. He was confined, but escaped, against orders. We are working to round up the attackers to prevent any additional harm from his actions. An antidote is in the works, but is proving difficult to synthesize. It’s taking time.”

“So you’re telling me you grounded a ... what, sixteen or seventeen year old boy without an explanation and expected him to stay put?” Gordon shook his head, “Can I recommend a good parenting class? That was a rookie mistake.”

Batman scowled, ignoring the remark. “Alert the hospital that only female doctors and nurses are to be caring for the incoming John Doe. We don’t need him causing additional incidents and spreading more of the toxin.” 

Shaking his head, Jim admonished, “This isn’t his fault, you know. It’s obvious what they did to him tonight. Even if he disobeyed you, you can’t make this his fault. You’ll lose him forever if you do. You brought him into this life, trained him up as a child soldier for Christs sake. Everything he does, everything that happens to him is on your head.” 

Batman hopped into the Batmobile, and before taking off replied “Believe me, Jim, I know”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am loving the questions and engagement! Chapters should keep coming out steadily until we’re finished (I’m guessing around 26 at this point). Comments and kudos are my bread and butter!


	14. Moment of Truth

“Adolescent John Doe, found unresponsive in an alley by first responders at approximately 1900 hours. Superficial GSW to the right leg, as well as confirmed sexual assault from multiple attackers. Pulse 150, BP 80 over palp. Temp 92.3 degrees F. Field tracheostomy placed due to compromised airway. O2 Sats currently 92% with bag ventilation. Warmed saline bolus pushed en route.” The paramedic efficiently transferred care to the trauma team at Gotham General. Behind her, Detective Renee Montoya took case notes; a special favor to the Commissioner, who called her out of bed to supervise a particularly nasty sexual assault case. 

_ The poor kid was probably a rent boy with a John that went bad, or something _ she surmised. The Narrows after dark was no place for any kid, regardless of profession. 

Transfer to the trauma bay was smooth. Renee maintained the Commissioner’s orders of “female contact only”, but thought it was overkill. She assumed it was so the boy wouldn’t be further traumatized, but it seemed like there was little chance the kid was going to open his eyes and be startled by a man anytime soon, if ever. Gordon always had a soft spot for cases like these, though, and as far as Montoya was concerned, his word was law. She sat in a chair outside the sliding glass doors of the Shock Trauma room and settled in with a book. The boy wasn’t stable enough for forensics yet, so she had to wait. 

It had been a little over an hour before a commotion down the hall pulled her attention away from her story. 

“Mr. Wayne! Sir! You cannot go in there. We have NO confirmation that this is your son, a simple phone call does not give you access...” a nurse hurried and shouted behind an imposing man wearing a long tan coat that swept near expensive looking shoes. 

Montoya got to her feet and unbuckled her holster, laying her hand on the grip of her gun. She took a wide stance and put up her other hand, stopping the man from barging into the room. 

“Mr. Wayne, you need to take a seat and take a breath. Let’s go to the waiting room and you can tell me what this is about.” 

He hesitated a moment, trying to get a look into the trauma bay before sighing and nodding. “Fine. But then I want to see my son.” 

Montoya addressed the nurse and security team who had just assembled behind her, “It’s alright. I’ve got him. Just make sure it’s ladies only in with the boy. Commissioners orders.” 

She pulled Wayne into a room labeled “family consultations” and sat him down in an extra wide chair. 

“Ok. Now why are you here? What makes you think that kid is yours?”

“We’ve been calling hospitals for hours,” Bruce began, the lie practiced, “Dick didn’t come back from his run this morning. We didn’t want to bother the police if we didn’t have to. We thought he’d met up with friends. But when he didn’t come back... well, we assumed the worst and started making calls. And when a nurse told me a boy was brought here... it had to be him.” 

Montoya sighed, “Mr. Wayne. The GCPD will help you in your search, but I don’t think this kid is your boy. He was brought in from an alley in the Narrows. Something makes me doubt he has friends out there.” 

“Can I at least see him,” Bruce asked, “I just have to be sure.” 

Sighing again, Montoya shrugged, “Fine. But after that, when you see that it isn’t him, I want you to go downtown and file a proper police report. Time is really important Mr. Wayne. You should never wait to call in something like this.” 

Bruce nodded, appearing contrite. Montoya helped him up and they went to the trauma bay together. 

She ducked her head inside the busy room, catching the eye of a nurse, “Can you pull back the curtain just a bit? Trying to make an ID.” 

Irritated, the nurse complied before heading back over to her patient. 

Bruce gasped, genuinely taken aback by the scene before him. Dick looked so small in the large room, surrounded by doctors, nurses, and equipment. Blood was smeared on the floor, the staff tracking footprints around the bed. 

Drawing a shaky breath, Bruce nodded, “It’s him. Oh God, it’s him.” He pointed to a bag labeled “Patients Belongings” that had been tossed in the corner for the police to catalog later. “Those are his shoes. He got them last month. They’re exclusive, tailored just for him. My God...” 

Montoya grabbed Bruce’s shoulders, steadying him and guiding him down into a nearby chair. “He’s in the best hands possible, Mr. Wayne. I’ve met your boy before, he’s spunky as hell. He’ll pull through, ok? I just want you to stay sitting right here and let them do their job. I’ll tell the staff they’re cleared to give you updates, and then I have to make some calls.” She stepped back into the bay, closing the curtain, pulling a Doctor aside. “We’ve got a positive ID. It’s Bruce Wayne’s kid. His name is Dick. Dads out there now, he’d probably appreciate an update.” 

Next, Renee walked down the hall and outside through the ambulance entrance, pulling out her phone. 

“Commissioner? It’s Montoya. Got a positive ID on the kid, Dick Grayson. Yeah. I’m shocked too. Wayne’s here now. Caused a bit of a scene but I got him calmed down. Yeah, I’ll keep him here. Don’t think he’s leaving anyway. See you in ten.” 

She closed her phone, shaking her head. 

_What the hell is this world coming to?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters may slow down a bit from here as I round out posting the things I already have written. Want to keep me motivated? Keep the comments coming!


	15. Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon puts the pieces together and confronts Bruce.

James Gordon was never particularly good at swallowing his emotions. Subterfuge was not his wheelhouse, either. So when Montoya called with an ID on the boy from the alleyway, it took everything he had to not shout what had suddenly become painfully obvious. 

Bruce Wayne is Batman. 

He took his own car and made it to the hospital in record time, bursting into the Trauma unit to find Bruce sitting in a chair, looking far more fragile than he expected, eyes fixed on the boy behind the glass. 

“How is he, Mr. Wayne?” Gordon’s concern was genuine, but each syllable was laden with unspoken subtext. 

“Stable” Bruce replied. The light Baritone was almost startling now. Such a contrast to Batman’s voice. “They’re moving him to the ICU soon. I think they’re starting him on some HIV prophylaxis first, just in case.” 

Jim stared at Bruce, doubting himself for a moment. It didn’t seem possible, even with all the facts in front of him, that this reckless, debonair, man, now concerned father, was really THE Batman. It seemed ludicrous. 

“Mr. Wayne. We need to talk. Privately.”

Bruce locked eyes with Gordon - a dark, threatening gesture. In that instant, the doubts vanished. Of course this was Batman. How had he not seen it before? 

“Of course, Commissioner. There’s a private room, just over here...”

Behind the closed doors, the mask dropped. Bruce’s warm demeanor melted, and the room itself felt colder. “What do you want, Jim?” 

Desperately trying to keep his voice low, Gordon hissed, “What do I want? A goddamned explanation, for starters. And I want to know what you’re doing to keep this from EVER happening to that boy again, assuming he pulls through. I want to know how you put a kid who is supposed to be like a SON to you through hell, night after night, and still live with yourself. How could you use someone you were entrusted to keep happy and whole, as a human shield? 

You were supposed to be his safe place, Bruce. Someone who could care for him after his parents died. Hell, I vouched for you. I told every press vulture trying to pin you for abuse that they were making things up. 

Goddamnit, Bruce. They were right. You’re not fit to take care of a plant, let alone a sweet boy like Dick. You used him for your own agenda and now he’s paying the price!”

Bruce lowered his eyes. “You’re right, Jim. You’re absolutely right. I wanted to give him a constructive outlet for his pain, not pile on more. And as much as I want to make that better now, I can’t. What’s done is done. 

Now we have to focus on containment. Two of the assailants avoided capture. They could be spreading the toxin as we speak. You can be angry at me later. But now you need boots on the ground to pull them in before they do any damage. Get it done, Jim. Now. Yelling at me only wastes more time.” 

The words hung in the air. Neither man moved. A pinging noise suddenly resounded in the silence, and Bruce pulled a thick cell phone from his back pocket. 

“Go ahead. Good. Bring it to the hospital as soon as it’s ready.” Bruce ended the call and turned to Gordon, “My team has developed an antidote for Dick. They’ll have it ready within the hour. So _that_ is what I am doing to keep this from happening again. We’re still no closer to a counteracting agent for the men contaminated by Dick. You have to find them, Jim. If they hurt or kill someone, and Dick finds out he was responsible, even indirectly, I’m not sure _that_ is something he could recover from.” 

Jim seethed, needing to say so much more. Instead he whispered, “This conversation isn’t over. Not by a long shot” before leaving Bruce alone and getting to work.


	16. Delivery

“In Breaking News, Richard Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne and heir to the Wayne family fortune was found unconscious in an alley on the 200 block of Stonecroft Avenue, after surviving what police are calling one of the worst sexually motivated assaults in decades. A group of men allegedly attacked the teen as he returned home from an outing with friends. Many of those men are in custody tonight, however two of them are still at large and considered extremely dangerous. Images of the men from CCTV cameras in the area are being circulated in an effort to bring them to justice. Their victim remains in critical but stable condition at Gotham General. If you have any information regarding this case, or the identity of the alleged assailants, please call the Gotham Police Tip Line at 677-555-GCPD. We go now, live, to a press conference with police Commissioner, James Gordon...”

Alfred muted the broadcast. He wasn’t sure he could bear to listen to any details. He turned to face the odd grouping of people gathered in the sitting room. Barbara and Leslie were assisting Lucius in loading the antidote into special cartridges designed to protect it on the way to the hospital. Wally and Donna, invited by Alfred to wait for news, sat on the large leather loveseat together - Donna, lounged back, fighting sleep; Wally, leaning forward eyes fixed on the silent screen, trembling and holding back tears. 

“This is my fault,” he whispered, “If we had listened, if we had waited just one more day, the antidote would have been ready and Dick would be ok. I wouldn’t have... wouldn’t have done...”

He broke off, giving in to the sobs building inside him. Donna leaned up and put an arm around him, placing her head on his shoulder, “It’s my fault too, Wally. The whole plan was my idea. He’s going to be ok, though. They said he’s stable, did you hear that part? He’s going to get better, and come home, and things will be back to normal.” 

Wally jumped up from his seat, startling the team working quietly in the corner, “Normal?! I almost raped my best friend, and when he understandably ran away from me, he was nearly raped to death anyway! How is any of that going to go away and be normal again?! How is he even going to be able to look at me again, much less be my friend?” 

“Wally...” Donna began. 

“No. No, I can’t stay here. I’m going home.” Before anyone could protest, he was gone. 

Donna sat back down, deflated, saying nothing more. Was Wally right? Was there really no chance of going back, now?

After waiting a beat, Lucius motioned for Alfred to join him. “There are a few caveats that come with this antidote. The first is that it is incredibly unstable. It has to be kept at the precise temperature before it gets to Dick. The case and cartridges take care of that. The second issue is delivery. We’ve figured out that Dick isn’t giving off a pheromone, exactly, but a metabolite in his breath. Unfortunately, the compound we’ve synthesized won’t work in aerosol form. The only way this works is if we flood his lungs with the antidote....”

“A whole lung lavage?” Alfred clarified, “Is he stable enough for that?” 

“I doubt it,” Leslie added, “This isn’t going to work. You can’t just dump fluid into a critically ill patients lungs and expect everything to come out ok. He’ll need ECMO and a hell of an anesthesia team, not to mention the risks given his recent lung trauma.”

“He’s ventilated now, right?” Lucius argued, “Someone could surreptitiously administer the antidote through the vent, and when he codes, the ICU team will clear his lungs.”

“You’re suggesting that one of us should essentially attempt to drown him and then step back and just hope it all works out ok? Absolutely not!” Leslie shouted. 

Lucius shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, “I really don’t see any other way.” 

Barbara rolled her eyes, “How about we try something called ‘the truth’. It’s a new thing kids are doing these days. We have my dad or Batman inform the medical team about the toxin, provide them with the antidote and instructions, and then let THEM handle the medical side of things. No water-boarding required.” 

“And if they don’t comply?” Alfred asked. 

“It’s the best option. We have to try.” She replied. “I’ll... contact my dad. At this point he’s already figured out the truth about Bruce, he’s not an idiot. It’s probably time I take a bit of my own advice anyway, given everything that’s happened.” 

Barbara pulled out her cellphone and dialed. “Hey, Dad. I’m fine! Yes, I promise! No, stop. Listen. I need you to come to Wayne Manor right away. I’ll explain everything when you get here. I love you.” 

She sank down into a nearby chair. “Oh, I am in so much trouble.”


	17. Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman Inc has no choice but to bring Gordon up to speed. Will alliances shatter, or be tempered in the fire?

Gordon twisted his hands over the steering wheel as he drove the darkened roads to the palisades outside of town. In the distance, Wayne Manor jutted off of the horizon, it’s imposing, gothic architecture filling him with dread. “What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Barbara?” He asked no one. 

The gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled up to the flawlessly maintained front entry. Before, he had only ever been to the Manor for fundraising galas and the like. Without the hum of valets and chamber music, the mansion looked at once lonely and formidable. 

Before he was able to knock, Alfred answered the door. The man who was usually impeccably dressed to the Queen’s standards looked practically disheveled; his white shirt was wrinkled and untucked behind a long apron covered in flour or powdered sugar, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. 

“Please come in Commissioner. May I offer you some tea and fresh scones?”

Jim nodded absently, “Yes, thank you.” 

Beyond the foyer, he could hear activity in the sitting room. He walked back as Alfred headed off to the kitchen. 

An inviting blaze in the fireplace drew him into the room, which looked more like a tactical office and less like the formal, stuffy chamber he recalled. By a table, covered with papers, and a small, odd-looking box, stood Barbara, giving a man hell; Lucius Fox, he recognized. She looked like a general dressing down an officer. She looked powerful and in charge, and Jim found himself both proud and terrified. 

Her demeanor changed entirely when she saw him. “Dad!” She exclaimed, jogging over to him and wrapping him in a tight hug. “You...ok?” 

“Just a little overwhelmed, is all” he smiled weakly in reply, “What is all this?” 

She stepped back and spread her arms, “Welcome to ‘Save-Dick-and-Stop-Poison-Ivy Headquarters! I’m in charge while Batman...Bruce, is at the hospital. Pretty impressive, right?”

Jim’s smile faded, and he shook his head, “No, Barbara. That man, all of this is just dangerous. And stupid. He sacrificed his own son like a lamb to slaughter for this cause. When Dick has nothing left for him to use, he’s buttered you up to be next. Don’t you see that? This isn’t a game, this is a hazardous job working for a man who cares about nothing and no one but his own agenda. You’re smarter than this.”

Barbara blinked back tears. She had expected him to be angry and bombastic. She was not prepared for his calm, logical disapproval. “Batman’s agenda, his mission, IS all that matters, Dad. It’s all that can matter. Everyone in this room knows that, and accepts those risks. Because without the Batman, you and I both know that what happened to Dick would happen to everyone in Gotham a lot more often. And thank God, for Dick’s sake, at least he was trained by Batman to cope with things like this.”

Eyes wide, incredulous, Jim continued to shake his head, “Do you hear yourself, Barbara? That boy was raped within an inch of his life because the man entrusted to protect him like a father decided that what he needed for his ‘mission’ was more important. ‘Trained to cope’?! He’s sixteen! He was given over to Bruce when he was nine! God save me, I helped make that happen. He never had a choice, and he never stood a chance. But you do. And why you would continue to choose an alliance with someone like that... I don’t even recognize you.” 

Barbara looked away, her father’s disappointment cutting her heart like a knife. “We will have time to work through all of this later, Dad. And if I have to stop this to fix things with you, I will. I honestly thought...” she shrugged, “I thought you would be proud of me. But this isn’t about us, right now. Lucius has manufactured an antidote for Dick, so nobody else will try and hurt him, removing additional risk to him entirely. But the longer we wait to get it to him, the more chance there is for a male janitor, or cafeteria worker, or anyone to slip past Renee’s gender-fence and hurt him again, or kill him. 

“The antidote is in this case. It’s fragile, and must be kept at this exact temperature or it won’t work. It’s also tricky to give to him. You need to tell Dick’s doctors that he’s been exposed to a toxin. That it was the reason he was attacked. And that Batman gave you this antidote. Tell them it needs to be washed into his lungs directly, it can’t be aerosolized. Make them listen, like I know only you can.”

Gordon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to absorb all the information, “Can you write that down, I don’t want to get it wrong...”

Pressing the case into her fathers hands, Barbara smiled, “Just remember the first part. Lucius included an instruction manual with the medicine. The doctors will know what to do.” 

Jim took the case and turned to leave, but Barbara wrapped him in one final hug. “And Daddy? I’m so sorry I disappointed you.” 

He nodded solemnly before heading back out the door, leaving Alfred in the foyer with a tray of piping hot tea and scones. 

As the door shut, and the sound of wheels spinning on gravel faded into the distance, Alfred whispered, “Godspeed, sir.”


	18. Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most brutal chapter so far, especially toward the end. It’s important for the plot, but if you think it’s too much, skip it. You’ll be able to piece it together in future chapters.

Dick’s condition had improved rapidly by the time Gordon returned to the hospital. He was out of the Trauma unit and in the ICU, but Bruce still hadn’t entered the boy’s room. He sat, motionless, staring through the glass door as the nurses came and went, slowly decreasing Dick’s sedation, moving down the settings on the ventilator. 

Jim sat heavily in the chair next to Bruce and showed him the box. “The antidote’s in there. Came directly from a mutual friend. Apparently it’s not exactly user friendly. We need the doctors on board to get it in him.” 

Bruce sighed. “Ideas on how to get that to happen?”

“I was told to tell the doctors the truth. A heavily redacted version, mind you. Batman gave me the medicine because the boy was exposed to a toxin that made him vulnerable to this kind of attack. Once he gets the antidote, they won’t have the female-only staffing restrictions on his room - I’m sure that will be a bonus for them. There are detailed instructions included, but the long and the short of it is they basically have to wash his lungs with the stuff. I didn’t ask why.” 

Bruce nodded. “Proceed when ready”

Bristling at the presumption that Bruce thought he was in charge here, Gordon approached Dick’s nurse, handing over the antidote and the story. 

Bruce watched the exchange with mild interest; he saw the nurse call the doctor. Nodding. Talking quickly. Taking the box and examining the contents. The doctor glanced at Bruce, then approached. 

“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” she began, crouching down to eye level where he sat, as if he were a child, “We’ve received some information about exactly what may have happened to your son. Apparently, somewhere in his travels, he was exposed to a toxin. It’s made him susceptible to attacks like what he’s suffered - it’s why we haven’t been able to let you in the room with him yet, and why all his doctors and nurses are women. The good news is that Batman used his pull at STARLabs to make a medication that can reverse the effect. The challenging news is that the procedure to give him the medicine is a little tricky. We’ll lose a little ground when it comes to backing off the sedation and vent. But honestly, with as fast as he’s coming around, I think it’ll be ok. And I know you probably really want to be with him. This is how we make it happen. Do we have your permission to proceed?” 

Bruce tried to look overwhelmed and bewildered before nodding, but must not have been very convincing, as Jim rolled his eyes at him in disdain from across the hallway. 

“Great.” The Doctor continued, seeming not to notice the silent exchange between the two men, “The nurse will bring over the full consent forms for you to sign, and we should be able to get started right away.”

The doctor walked back to the nurses station, making the appropriate orders to get underway, and Jim came back to sit next to Bruce again. “I never noticed how over-the-top your ‘dumb little rich boy’ routine was before now. Might want to tone it down in the future.”

The silence between them stretched for several minutes before Jim began again, “You have my kid drinking your kool-aid. It stops. Now. I don’t care what it takes. I do not want her to be the next one of your protégés hanging by a thread in the ICU.”

Bruce sighed, avoiding eye contact. “She’s an adult, Jim. How she spends her time is her business. At least she’s getting the right tools and training to keep herself safe. The truth is, she started without my blessing, and continued against my explicit orders to stop. She was going to get herself killed. I only took her in to keep her alive.” 

Scoffing in contempt, Jim replied, “You could have at least had the decency to tell me what she was up to. She’s all I have. I promised my brother I would keep her safe, no matter what. When he died, and I took on the responsibility of raising her, I did so with the intention of keeping that promise. Because that is what a father does. How you can encourage your son...”

“He isn’t my son,” Bruce interrupted, “and I am not his father. He had a father who loved him more than anything in the world and still failed to keep him safe. Because love is not enough. Dick is my soldier. I am his commanding officer. Our relationship extends no further. It’s the only way to achieve what we must.” 

“Bullshit.” Gordon shook his head. “If that’s what you tell yourself so you can sleep, fine. But I don’t think you believe that for a second. And I know that boy in there would beg to differ. You’re terrified of making him your family, because then, if you lose him, you’ll have to experience that pain of loss all over again. Just like when you lost your parents. But I’ve got news, you’re too damn late. That boy in there looks at you with all the admiration any kid would have for his dad. So you need to step up or step out. Because, more than anything, he deserves a family, and love. And if you won’t provide that, I promise you I will make it my mission to see him in a new home with parents who aren’t as soulless as you.”

Bruce stood as the nurse with the paperwork caught his attention and waved him over. “Don’t make me your enemy, Gordon” he said, narrowing his eyes dangerously, before turning on the Wayne Charm and walking to the nurses station. 

———

Detective Harvey Bullock was exhausted. He had spent the past 12 hours hunting down dead end after dead end, searching for the men who had gotten away after the Narrows Attack, as it was becoming infamously known. He was vaguely grateful for the lull in other crimes that let his team focus - a halo effect after really horrible shit like this. 

It didn’t help that it was the fucking _Narrows_. The people there were skeptical of any police presence, with good reason. 

He and Montoya had taken a “break” from street work to comb through the files of recent arrests. Maybe these guys were picked up for something else? If only. 

Bullock leaned far back in his chair, tossing his hat on the desk in frustration. “Why the hell couldn’t this kid have gotten nabbed in midtown, huh? Good food on the beat, and we’d have this wrapped up in an hour?”

Montoya tutted, “Nah. Rich people are less helpful than you would expect. Especially if they’re protecting their own. We’d -never- get justice for this kid. At least in the Narrows we have a chance.” She sighed, “Speaking of rich people, do you think we should question Wayne?”

“Why?” Bullock asked, munching on a donut and flipping over the CCTV image of their guys “Do you think secretly he’s a 5’6’’ ex-con with facial tattoos? Or a weird-looking skinhead who probably weighs 80 pounds soaking wet?”

“No” she rolled her eyes, “I’m just saying, it’s weird, right? Kid maybe goes jogging and somehow meets up with friends who take him to the worst part of town and then ditch him in the middle of the night? Maybe someone kidnapped him, you know? Wayne tried to handle it on his own and he panicked? Somethings not adding up.”

Bullock shook his head, brushing powdered sugar off his hands. “I’ve seen a few of those go down before. Kid always comes home in a body bag.” 

“He was close” she sighed, “He was damn close. You should’ve seen him, Harv...”

Montoya’s radio interrupted her musings, “Two sixty-one, assault in progress. Northeast corner of Harlow Park”

Harvey grabbed his hat, “Sounds like our cue!” 

They ran to the garage in record time, Harvey huffing and wheezing behind his partner. The pair then raced off in their patrol car, signaling to central command that they were en route. 

Harlow Park wasn’t far from the Downtown precinct. Nice area. Plenty of working class families. During he daytime, the park was almost always full of kids. 

They heard the screaming before they rounded their car to the back side of the park. A woman was collapsed over the tiny form of a little boy, her voice calling for help, over and over, as she sheltered her son. The danger was still nearby, a short man covered in tattoos, frothing like a rabid dog. Their guy from the Narrows. As soon as Harvey stepped from the patrol car, the assailant tackled him, pushing him hard enough against the door to shatter the passenger side glass. As Bullock struggled, Montoya deftly pulled out her Ruger and took aim. Harvey pushed the man back, allowing some room for what he knew was coming next - Renee emptied her gun into the mans chest, and he fell, unceremoniously, to the dirt and mulch beneath him. 

She only had a minute to catch her breath before she holstered her weapon and turned her attention to the boy and his mother. “This is Montoya, we need EMS at Harlow Park, Northeast. One pediatric assault, one adult male with multiple GSWs.” She radioed in before She gently moved the boy from  
his mothers arms, barely keeping her composure. The child looked like he had been...crushed. Multiple open fractures stuck out at odd angles, his character T shirt was ripped down his back, his adjustable jean shorts were hanging down near his light-up shoes.

He was dead. 

She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself together to help the hysterical woman in front of her, “It’s ok, an ambulance is coming,” she told the mother, who was drenched in her child’s blood. “They’ll be here any minute”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and Comments keep me going.


	19. Recrimination

Dick squinted against the bright lights, trying to focus his vision but finding impossible - his eyes felt like they were covered in slime. He tried to wipe it away but was startled to see his arm taped to a board, multiple IV lines secured down to it. Then there was the sensation that something was very wrong with the way he was breathing - his throat felt closed, like something was shoved down it.

_One by one they shoved their cocks down my throat. I couldn’t breathe._

The vivid memory brought him to the edge of panic. 

“Dick, honey, you’re safe” a soft, female voice started from just out of his eyeline, “You’re in the hospital. I know its hard but try to relax, ok? I’m Dr. Cole. We’re taking you off some of the medicine that was keeping you asleep, but you still have a tube in your throat helping you breathe, alright?” 

The edge of hysteria waning slightly, Dick nodded, blinking tears out of his eyes. He tried to talk, was rewarded with only hoarse grunts for his efforts.   
“You’re not going to be able to talk yet, ok, but it won’t be long before we can take that tube out so it’s a little easier for you. ” The doctor continued, “Your dad’s here, you’re safe” 

_My dad?_ he thought. 

He remembered his dad’s voice; the bedtime stories in Romani; large, gentle hands catching him every time. Those memories made him feel warm, like he was wrapped up in a wool blanket on a cold night on the circus train, a mug of hot _chao_ in his hands, as his dad made elaborate shadow puppets in the moonlight. 

The face that leaned over into his vision was not his father. It was Bruce. Suddenly, the pain of everything came flooding back, and he turned away, closing his eyes against the stream of tears. 

“Hey, chum” Bruce smiled, ruffling Dick’s hair. 

This time there was nothing he could do to fight the wave of terror as the memories assaulted his senses. 

_Bruce’s rough fingers were inside me. So much pain. The way Bruce grunted and moaned in pleasure as he broke me, and the smell of Bruce’s cum that I tried to wash off but just couldn’t. _

Dick gagged and fought against the ventilator, his empty stomach clenching into dry heaves, his hands blindly tearing at the tape holding the wires and lines against his skin. 

“Ok, ok...” the doctor sighed, pushing more medicine into his IV line. “Too much, too soon. It’s ok. Rest now. You’re safe”. 

He tried to keep focus, tried to keep his eyes open and alert to protect himself from the whatever was coming next, but it was a losing battle. Darkness swept in, blotting out the terror. 

The next time light crept in, he felt a warm, soft cloth on his cheeks. Someone was talking, but it took a little while to register who. Alfred. Idly chatting, unaware that Dick could hear him. 

“There we are, sir. All tidied up. I’ve been trying new recipes for scones. I think you’ll particularly like the one stuffed with Bavarian cream, though I’m keen on a savory one, with bacon and cheddar. When you return to the manor you’ll have plenty of time to get your strength back, and you can have as many as you like.”

Alfred sniffled in spite of himself. “It is good to be by your side again, sir. I have missed you dearly.”

Dick managed a weak smile, and Alfred lit up. 

“Thank goodness, sir!” He kept his voice low, “It’s good to see that smile again, too! There are quite a few friendly faces waiting to visit, when you’re ready. And if all goes well, in a few hours, you’ll be without the mechanical ventilation, as well. We are all so proud of how hard you are fighting. Rest, now, sir. You’ll be home before you know it. ” 

In the lobby, Barbara, Donna, and Wally sat around a small table, waiting their turn to visit. They wanted to give Alfred as much time as possible. Bruce was already gone - he had stormed out a few hours ago after the first attempt to wake Dick up went poorly. 

“As much as I want to see him, we shouldn’t just be sitting around,” Donna began, standing and pacing, “There’s still one more contaminated man out there, doing Hera knows what. Who knows how many more people just one attacker can contaminate.” 

Barbara shrugged, “The police are taking care of it, for the most part. It’s alright if we take a bit to focus on one of our own.”

“They’re taking care of it alright. Heard they shot one of the guys to hell.” Wally said, an edge of vengeful glee to his voice. 

“Yeah.” Donnas voice was dry and mirthless, “_After_ he raped an 8 year old boy to death in front of his mother in a park.”

“You can _not_ tell Dick about that part. None of us can.” Barbara was resolute, “Can you imagine how hard he would take it? He needs to focus on healing, and he would think it was his fault somehow. It’s just how he’s wired.” 

Wally nodded, “She’s right and you know it, Donna. Hell, I’m _not_ wired that way and even I feel a little guilty.” 

Donna sank back down into her chair. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

As if in reply, the secure doors to the pediatric ICU beeped, and Alfred stepped out, looking tired and careworn, but relieved. “Master Richard is awake enough for visitors, now. Two at a time, I’m afraid. However I am assured he will be delighted to see you all, in turn.”

Wally hopped up and rushed through the doors crying “Me first!” A nurse behind him shushed him with irritation. Donna shrugged at Barbara, but ultimately decided to go with Wally to attempt to keep his excitement to a minimum. 

Together, they approached the glass doors of Dicks room. Donna grabbed the handle, ready to slide it open. Wally took a step back and shuddered; his enthusiasm had completely evaporated. 

“You know it’s alright, Wally,” Donna chided, “He got the antidote, he’s getting better. What’s wrong?” 

Wally looked away, “I can’t go in there. I wanted to, but I can’t. It’s _my_ fault he’s in there in the first place. If I’d have had more control, if I hadn’t tried to hurt him, he wouldn’t have run off. He wouldn’t have been all alone in that alley when... Donna, this is my fault.” 

Donna shook her head, closing the distance between them and admonishing him in a whisper, “You’re being stupid. This? It’s Poison Ivy’s fault. The Batman himself couldn’t fight against what happened. _She_ is the only one responsible for this.”

But Wally wasn’t listening. “_We _took him away from home. _We _should have been there to protect him...I can’t go in there. I’m sorry.” He backed away several paces before turning around and walking back to the entrance of the ICU. He stopped briefly at the door before looking back down the hallway, shaking his head and fighting back tears, “I’m so sorry”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a solid outline for the rest of the story. I hope you are all as excited as I am! Let me know!


	20. Puzzling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get clearer for Dick, muddier for Bruce. Can they stop the final spread?

By the end of the next day, Dick was awake, alert, and breathing on his own. Dr. Cole was shaking her head in disbelief, “This is a career first, for me, kiddo. From severe hypovolemic shock to discharge in 3 days flat? It’s unheard of. I’m impressed.” 

Dick smiled wide, ignoring the pain from the bruises around his mouth. “Glad I didn’t disappoint!” His voice was still weak and croaking, but it wouldn’t stop him. In fact, he felt oddly light, optimistic. Like he’d gone through hell but made it out the other side. 

“I’ve given all the paperwork to your...Butler? So you can go ahead and get dressed in a minute, then you’ll be free to go.” The doctor sat on the edge of Dick’s bed, sighing, “I wanted to give you these pamphlets personally, however. It’s some information from RAINN, about coping with ... sexual assault. And a list of local counselors that specialize in kids that have gone through similar things. You are an incredibly strong young man, that much is obvious. But nobody is strong enough to work through something like this alone. I also wrote my professional cell number on the back - if you’re in crisis and you don’t know what to do next, call me. I’ll get you whatever help you need. You’ll also need to call and set up some HIV and STI testing in the coming months. We gave you medicine to try to prevent a lot of that, but it’s not a guarantee. Let me know if you need help getting any of that scheduled and I’ll point you in the right direction. It’s important that you use protection if you’re... intimate with anyone, but especially before you’re confirmed to be clear.”

Dicks smile faded as he nodded, accepting the papers. “Thank you doctor. I understand.” 

Bustling into the room, Alfred brought fresh clothes and a wheelchair. Dick eyed it suspiciously. “I don’t think I’ll need that, Alfred.” 

“Hospital policy, sir.” He said. “I took the liberty of choosing your outfit for the day as well” 

Dick rolled his eyes at the mollycoddling. Dr. Cole patted his knee as she got up to leave, “Let your family take care of you a while. You need the rest, and it’ll do them some good, too.” 

—— 

Dick managed to get some privacy while dressing before Alfred sat him in the wheelchair and carted him out of the hospital. The car was already pulled into the roundabout, and Dick was surprised to see Bruce sitting in the back seat as he tentatively climbed in. 

“I had to sign your discharge papers.” Bruce offered as an explanation for his presence, “But it’s also a good time to make sure you understand the new ground rules at home. I have agreed to allow you free roam of the manor, but you will not set foot in the cave until Leslie deems you physically fit to begin combat training again. You will complete a minimum of 3 hours of physical therapy a day, so you do not lose more ground than you already have. As you have also fallen behind with school, you will now be homeschooled, completing 6 hours of coursework daily. Alfred has been alerted to ensure you receive a strict, macro complete, 2,000 calorie diet while you convalesce, to be increased as you resume patrol duties, if I find you capable. Until then I don’t want to see you or hear you. Is that clear?”

Rolling his eyes, Dick chuckled, hiding his discomfort. “Missed you, too. Now, is there a bathroom schedule, or do I just fit that in between my physical therapy, coursework, and ‘macro-complete’ diet?” He asked sarcastically. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You relinquished your right to make decisions about your activities when you disobeyed orders and left the manor without permission, after I expressly told you not to leave your room. Trust is earned, Dick. And you have lost mine.” Inhaling sharply, Bruce turned his attention out his window, refusing to look at Dick any longer. 

Alfred sat in the drivers seat of the town car and pulled away. Dick watched out his own window as the hospital disappeared from view, and he suddenly felt shame in the pit of his still-empty stomach. This wasn’t his fault, was it? He was beginning to feel unsure. 

It felt childish, but once back at the manor, Dick went directly to his room and slammed the door. 

“Welcome home!” A familiar voice giggled. Barbara was sitting on Dicks bed, idly playing cards with Donna. “We wanted to throw you a ‘congrats on not dying’ party, but Bruce was dead-set against it. We had to settle for sneaking into your room and hoping like hell nobody came up here with you.”

Dick smiled at first, then sighed and joined them, sitting gently on the edge so as not to disturb their game. Donna pulled him into a fierce hug, but released abruptly, “I’m ... I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

Shaking his head, Dick replied, “It’s fine. I’m not fragile. Just untrustworthy and basically incompetent, according to Bruce.”

Barbara was angry, “How dare he! This was not your fault!” She shot a dark look at Donna before continuing, “He made us swear not to tell you, but he should have told you from the beginning. After he...after he hurt you, you basically became ‘contaminated’ with a secondary toxin. It set off violent reactions in any males near you. If he had told you that at the start, and explained things rationally, you wouldn’t have left. But I think he was trying to protect you. Maybe he felt guilty, who knows. But Lucius developed an antidote and you’re in the clear now! There’s no reason you have to be stuck here anymore. Bruce is overreacting. And we think he’s hiding something, too. But absolutely not a single piece of any of that is your fault.”

The wheels were turning, but Dick felt like he was missing a few gears. “What was Isleys endgame, then? To hurt me and then, by proxy, Batman? Seems short-sighted for her usual M.O. “ 

“You’re right, it’s bigger than that,” Donna began. “She was trying to set Bruce up as Patient Zero in an epidemic, essentially. Bruce infects you; you turn into bait and draw in men who hurt you and, assuming they have a biochemical climax in your proximity, those men seek out others to infect in turn. I think the plan was to punish mankind, leaving women unscathed in the process, and saddling Batman with the guilt.”

Dicks shoulders dropped and he sighed, “Yeah. That makes more sense. But you said I’m clear now, right? What about the people I ‘infected’. Are they clear, too? Is Wally...”

“Wally’s fine,” Donna assured him, “You got away before he could be infected. Most of the other men were rounded up and brought into custody that night. Lucius is close to an antidote to bring them back to normal, too. There were two stragglers. One...”

Barbara hastily interrupted. “One was picked up by police soon after,” she lied. “And we’re all still looking for the last guy, so it’s hard to say if there has been any additional spread.”

“And Bruce...” Dick sought elaboration.

“We assume he’s clear - he’s not running around attacking anyone. I think his tests were negative. Probably detoxed himself by sheer force of will.” Barbara ended her explanation with a chuckle, amused at her own joke. 

A light knock interrupted their conspiratorial whispers, and Alfred entered. “I have brought your physical therapy schedule, to begin tomorrow, sir. Here, also, are the necessary supplies for your studies. I am told you are to resume those immediately. However, I do believe you have time for lunch.” Alfred smiled as he pulled the lid off a tray housing an assortment of cookies, scones, sandwiches, and cakes. “This meal may be outside the master’s exacting specifications, but I am sure your guests can help you eliminate any evidence before they leave you to rest.” 

Alfred returned to his duties and the trio ate in silence. 

A light chirp from Barbara’s watch interrupted the soft sounds of munching. “Oh crap! I’m supposed to be in the ‘cave for a debrief. Maybe a lead on our last guy? Sorry, I have to go.”

“I should head back, too.” Donna agreed. “Wally is taking all this pretty hard. Maybe if you feel up to it, give him a call in a few days. I’ll try and kick his butt into line in the meanwhile.” 

Alone, Dick idly leafed through a book detailing the history and techniques of Kunoichi in 17th century Japan. Dry stuff. He ached to be a part of a debrief again. Maybe he could eavesdrop for just for a minute and not get caught. 

Dick walked silently down the stairs to the batcave, where Batman and Batgirl were pouring over a map of Gotham. Readouts and pictures were projected up onto the computer screen, and Alfred stood nearby, cleaning up the last of a hastily eaten meal. 

“How do we even know he’s still in Gotham? Maybe he wasn’t a local and we need to be casting a wider net.” Batgirl spoke as she annotated the map in front of her. 

Still unnoticed, Dick caught a glimpse of the photo of their target at the center of the array of monitors. Almost instantly he recognized the small, bald man, and without thinking, asked, “What does Mateo have to do with all this?” 

Batman and Batgirl looked up simultaneously, but their expressions couldn’t have been more different. Barbara was nearly grinning. “You know him!” She exclaimed, clearly relieved to finally have a break in the case. 

Bruce, however, growled like an alpha wolf being challenged, “What are you doing here, Dick?” 

Falling back on his humor as a way to cope with the fear at seeing his mentor so incensed, he replied “I got lost, on the way to physical therapy. I guess I’ve just been away too long. I’ll get the hang of it eventually.” 

Stalking closer, Batman pressed on his line of questioning, “Where can we find him?”

Now irritated and skeptical, Dick shook his head, “Why would I tell you? So you can beat the crap out of him for information he may or may not have?” Bruce looked confused as Dick continued, “It makes more sense for me to go and talk to him. He’s been an underworld contact of mine for years. Whatever you need out of him, I can get.” 

“Dick...” Barbara began tentatively, “Do you recognize him from anywhere else? The Narrows, maybe? He’s... the last attacker still out there. We’re looking for him to give him the antidote so he doesn’t hurt anyone else.” 

He closed his eyes tight, trying to reconstruct the image.

_There were so many men grouped around that night. It was so dark. He couldn’t breathe. The pain was at the edge of unbearable. But it was almost as if his mind had erased the faces. They all blurred together into one menacing monster._

He shook his head, “I don’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t trust anyone but me. I can get this done. Otherwise, you’re on your own.” He ended on a bluff. Of course there was no way he would let innocents stay at risk so he could win an argument. But he knew his way was better than whatever Batman, king of brute force, had planned. He winced in anticipation, expecting Bruce to start yelling. 

He did not expect Batman to take three large steps, rapidly closing the distance, before twisting his hand in Dick’s shirt and slamming him brutally against the nearby wall. He didn’t yell, he snarled, “I am very tired of whatever teenage rebellion this is. You are not a person, to me. You are my tool. _My_ weapon. You will not disobey me. You _will_ tell me where to find him.” 

Dick forgot to breathe, his chest heaving unnaturally as he fought against the panic filling him. Then he felt something else, as unmistakable as it was unbelievable. Bruce’s growing erection pressing into his abdomen. The combination of terror and absurdity made him laugh, incredulous. The pieces of Bruce’s wildly callous and dominating behavior started to fall into place. Batman wasn’t enraged; he was losing control, and he was terrified. 

Dick took a shot. Hoping his words would strike true, he whispered, “What are you gonna do, Bruce? Rape me again? I’ve survived worse. Fight back against Ivy now, before it’s too late. ” 

Horrified, cornered, Batman backed up, dropping Dick and struggling to cover his obvious arousal to maintain the illusion of authority. 

“Batman!” Barbara yelled, positioning herself between Bruce and Dick, “What are you doing?!” She did nothing to hide her disgust. 

Pulling himself to his feet, Dick scoffed. “You’re out of your mind Bruce. This isn’t you. Poison Ivy still has her hold on you. That’s what you’ve been struggling with this entire time. That’s why you can stand to look at me. It’s the only way you can fight back against her control.”

“That’s enough!” He roared. “You will tell me where to find this man, now, or you will regret the day you set foot in my house.” 

Mirthlessly, Dick scoffed, “Believe me. I already do. But I also understand how urgent this situation is, and arguing with you only uses up more time.” He knew he had to reach Mateo first, regardless of the consequences, so he lied, “He stays in a shelter in Haysville, and he deals heroin by the dockyard. He’ll be somewhere between those two places.”

Batman snatched a vial of antidote from Batgirl and took off in the Batmobile, leaving her behind and bewildered. 

“Are you ok?” She went to Dick, giving him a once-over to make sure none of his old injuries worsened in the attack. 

But Dick was grinning, everything was starting to make sense at last, “Never better. Give me 2 minutes to suit up and then we’re going to make a delivery.” 

“What?!” She called after him. 

“I sent Bruce in the opposite direction” he explained, wincing as he pulled his lightly armored uniform over his healing bruises. “We get to Mateo first, give him the antidote, and everything is back to normal. More or less.” 

Once dressed, he grabbed another vial and fired up the motorcycle. “Hop on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters to go, and they’re all still unwritten. If you have requests for a direction this story should take, now is the time to tell me!


	21. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warnings for vivid flashbacks and descriptions of overdoses.

Robin brought to motorcycle to an idle outside of Lun Hong Flower Shop in Chinatown. He pointed to the top floor. “Mateo lives up there. 5th floor walkup, unfortunately”

“And how do you know this guy, exactly?” Batgirl asked, following him to a tiny alley beside the shop, waiting as he picked the lock on the gate. 

“Caught him dealing outside of a middle school a few years back. Followed him back here. After some...intense discussion, I got him to agree to some restrictions in exchange for protection. No kids. No fentanyl. And I get whatever information I want.” Robin smiled as the lock popped, undamaged. “After you.”

He continued as they climbed the stairwell, “He’s actually a pretty cool guy. He’s the sole financial support for his 4 younger brothers. They’re all under 18, so they stay in a youth shelter in Midtown. One of them just got accepted to Gotham State. He’ll be the first ever in their family to go to college.”

They stopped at the last flight. “This is it” He panted, hating that maybe Bruce had a point about needing physical therapy and losing ground. He rapped on the door. “Mateo. It’s me. Open up!” 

No response. 

Louder this time, “Mateo! Open the door!” 

Batgirl shrugged, “Maybe he’s not home” 

Robin pressed his ear to the door. Silence... and then a soft retching sound. “He’s definitely home” He pulled out his lockpick set again and had the door opened in a second. 

“Hm” Batgirl remarked, “Batman usually just kicks the thing in.”

Robin chuckled, “Not me. My motto is, ‘when in doubt, reduce property damage’”

“Oddly specific motto.” Batgirl replied, rolling her eyes. 

They gently pushed the door open, but Robin stopped dead. The smell of a cheap, familiar cologne assailed his senses. 

_ The alley reeked of sweat and garbage. Passively, his face was used over and over again. Behind him they took turns, too. One of them, disturbingly gentle, ran their tongue down his neck and across his shoulder as he thrusted. The smell of shitty cologne blotting out anything else. A light voice whispered in his ear above the din of the other men shouting and jeering, “Tan apretado” _

The next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, and Batgirl was kneeling over him in the door way, trying to keep her composure, “Robin! Stay with me, yeah? We’ve got a job to do! You alright?” 

He pulled himself up again, “Yeah. Fine,” he lied, covering with a joke, “Just lightheaded. I did almost die a few days ago, you know?” 

Batgirl gave him a stern look, unamused. He shrugged it off. “Let’s check the bedroom”. 

Inside, a bald man was lying on the floor by the bed, gurgling slightly, but unmoving. Beside him, a myriad of powders, pills, and needles. 

“Damnit!” Robin knelt on the floor, “Help me roll him over and pull out your naloxone. He’s ODing.” 

Batgirl was panicking. She didn’t have nearly the same amount of field experience. “Which one is the nalaxone?” 

“It’s in with all the other antidotes, says ‘Nalaxone’ in huge black letters. Check the bigger pouches.”   
Robin swept Mateo’s mouth with his fingers, pulling out vomit, half digested pills, and a chewed up fentanyl patch. “Shit. He wasn’t fucking around.” One, two, three rescue breaths. “Did you find it?” 

“Yeah, Yeah...” She stammered. 

Four, five, six rescue breaths. “Cool. Find a muscle and jam it in, then.”

Seven, eight, nine. Robin rubbed his knuckles on Mateo’s breastbone. “C’mon man, come on back.” Ten, eleven, twelve. “Grab my Narcan. Same pocket, same steps.” 

At last, Mateo’s eyes fluttered open. “Good. Now call EMS, Batgirl” he coached, “Nice work.”

Mateo groaned, trying to sit up, “Perdòname, is my fault. I couldn’t make it stop.” 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Estas seguro” Robin tried to soothe him as he pulled out the antidote to Ivy’s toxin, an injectable Lucius has finally tweaked enough to be useful. “Te ayudarè, I’m going to help you.” He searched for a vein not destroyed by drug use and slid the needle into the first one he found. 

“I hurt him, we hurt him,” Mateo moaned. Robin scanned the room, trying to find any clues that might tell him if Mateo had spread the toxin to anyone else. A note addressed to “Mis hermanos” caught his attention. He pocketed it as Batgirl sighed. “EMS is on the way. ETA 3 minutes”

“Then we’re out of here. Can’t be here when they show up.” Robin explained, rolling Mateo onto his side. Batgirl nodded as he continued, pointing at the window, “Wanna take the shortcut?” 

Down on the street level, the pair ducked into an alley to debrief. Robin held up the piece of paper he pulled from the apartment. “Suicide note. This was definitely intentional.”

“Did he contaminate anyone else?” Batgirl asked eagerly. 

Robin scanned the note. “No. It doesn’t look like it. He says after ‘the boy in the alley’ he was horrified. He has a brother about my age, looks like he drew some similarities. Says he was ‘plagued by demons’ that ‘haunted his dreams’. He tried to fight back but he felt like he needed to hurt more people. He decided to kill himself before he did. My Spanish is a little sketchy, but that’s the gist.”

“So... it’s over?” Batgirl sighed. 

Robin shook his head, “One more loose end. We have to fix Batman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my outline there are only 5 more chapters to go. Can Batman be saved? Will Bruce and Dick reconcile? Will Wally work through his survivors guilt? Tune in next time to find out - or ask in the comments for clues ;)


	22. Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman starts unraveling. Can he maintain control?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual warnings apply.

The cave was deserted when the pair returned. Batman was still on the hunt, which gave them time to form a plan. 

“There is no way I can take him down one to one” Barbara lamented, “you?” 

Dick sighed, “Not in a fair fight, no. Not a chance. We have to get creative.”

“And you’re sure he’s still ‘under the influence’?” Barbara asked, “I double checked, his tests said he’s fine.”

Laughing in disbelief and shaking his head, Dick replied, “He is definitely _not_ fine. And the more he tries to hide it the worse it gets. He’s on the brink of losing control entirely; I get the sense that doesn’t end well for me. Touch base with Lucius, see if there is something we missed. Maybe Bruce’s chemical profile looks different than we’re expecting, it _has_ been two weeks since he was dosed.” 

Barbara nodded. “You should take some of this time to rest. You and I both know you’re not at 100%, and fixing Batman is going to take everything we have. And a miracle, too. I’ll let you know if his proximity alarm goes off.” 

Suddenly the weight of the day, and his exhaustion, crashed down on his shoulders, and he agreed, “You’re right. I’ll be in my room. Let me know what Lucius says, ok?” 

——

He didn’t bother getting pajamas or turning down the bed, he just flopped down in his boxers and started dozing almost immediately, his final thoughts chiding himself for not realizing how tired he was in the first place. 

It seemed like no time had passed at all when he felt startled awake, his room now pitch black; the sun had set hours ago. Sitting on the edge of his bed, a large shadowed figure sobbed into its hands. 

Bruce. Crying? 

Dick sat up tentatively as if a dangerous animal were in his room; his heart was pounding, “Are you ok?” 

“I am so, so sorry. I tried so hard. You have to know I tried to keep you safe. I’m still trying. But I can’t fight this anymore.” He reached out a hand to stroke Dicks cheek. The boy flinched slightly but didn’t move away; he was too dumbstruck by the bizarre nature of it all. Bruce continued, “I thought if I didn’t see you I could keep you safe. But I need you. I need you to give me what you gave me before. I’ve never felt anything like that. So much pleasure. I can’t live without it.” 

Now, Dick felt terrified and sick. This wasn’t an apology. This was a prelude to an attack. 

Moving on instinct, Dick leapt from his bed and sprinted for his door. His head jerked back as Bruce grabbed a hank of hair and pulled him to the floor. Using the momentum, Dick tucked in, rolled, then struck out with a foot, landing true on Bruce’s jaw. The larger man staggered back a step and Dick took off again, hurling himself out of the door and sliding on the marble floor of the hallway. 

Dick has always had a speed advantage over Bruce, but his injuries were slowing him down. If he could just get to the cave, he would have backup...

He launched himself up and over an antique console table, then across the banister and down, rolling with the impact as he hit the floor below him and instantly regretting it. One of his weaker ribs snapped on landing. Shaking off unfamiliar disorientation and searing pain, he continued forward to the study, and to the clock entrance to the cave. Almost there. 

Getting hurt again cost him speed he couldn’t afford to lose. As the secret door clicked open, Bruce caught up to him and yanked his arm back. Dick felt his shoulder pop as he fell to the floor. Without missing a beat, Bruce was on him,his large hand clamped over Dick’s mouth in a grip he knew would leave fresh bruises over the sickly green old ones. Leaning forward, Bruce whispered, “Don’t fight this. It doesn’t have to be like last time. We can go slow, have fun. I love you, Dick.” 

Beads of ice cold sweat ran down Dick’s neck as he desperately reached for anything that could be used as a weapon. Bruce was so much bigger than he was, it was like trying to fight back against a boulder. To his shame, tears spilled down his cheeks, pooling around Bruce’s fingers. 

“Shh, shh, shh.” Bruce whispered as he planted kiss after biting kiss down Dick’s neck, on his chest, “Relax. It’s ok.” 

At last, Dicks fingertips brushed the heavy brass of a candlestick that had fallen off a bookshelf during the attack. He fumbled, trying to keep it from rolling out of reach. He worked it into the palm of his hand and swung hard, striking Bruce in the temple. 

Bruce’s body changed instantly from aggressor to empty sack of dead weight. The shift in bulk made Dick lightheaded - he couldn’t move his chest enough to take a full breath. And he couldn’t get enough leverage to roll away. 

Distantly, he heard the front door open and shut. Alfred had just come home. 

“Help!” He gasped. The cry was barely above a whisper. 

It was enough. Dropping the bag of groceries in the foyer, Alfred ran back to the study. He wasted no time in heaving Bruce over. Dick sat up, gasping. “I am _never_ taking breathing for granted again.” 

“Bloody Hell! What happened?” Alfred glanced around the room, trying to piece together the recent events. 

“We need to get him downstairs and restrained” Dick panted. “Then I’ll explain.”

—- 

Handy as ever, Alfred pulled out a gurney he keeps ‘for just such occasions’ and the two of them managed to get Bruce on and strapped down. A short trip down the service elevator and they were in the cave at last. 

The pair moved Bruce into the shower room and cuffed his hands to the pipes before barricading the door. Not a moment too soon, as he had begun to stir. 

A soft snoring and gently flashing light brought Dicks attention to the comm panel in the cave. Barbara are had dozed off too, sleeping through Bruce’s arrival. 

“It’s no wonder, sir,” Alfred sympathized, “we’ve all been burning the candle at both ends.” 

Dick nodded as he gently shook Barbara awake. 

“Nnnsthehell!” She slurred and started. “Oh no! Oh no! I fell asleep! Is he back?”

Absently, Dick rubbed the fresh bruises spreading on his face, “More or less. He’s locked in the shower room, now. We really need a brig down here. Have you heard from Lucius?”

Barbara struggled to take it all in, still hazy from her impromptu nap, “Why is he in he shower?” Then she noticed the new injuries, “Did he hurt you again? I am so sorry...”

A pained, terrifying howl from the makeshift prison stopped her line of questioning. From behind the door, Bruce screamed, finally breaking, losing control, “You fucking whore! I should have killed you! You should have been grateful ANYONE wanted you! When I get out of here I’ll make you beg for it! You’ll be my fucking slave!” Above the echoes, a snapping of metal. And then the pounding began. 

The inhuman growls reverberated in concert with the vicious blows to the door, buckling slightly under the strain. 

“I don’t think that’s going to hold him for long” Barbara’s voice trembled. 

Thoughtfully, catching his breath, Dick nodded, “we need to knock him down, now. We could probably flood that room with Halothane...”

“You want to turn the showers into a gas chamber? Nazi much?” Barbara shot back. 

“First off, you know I’m Roma, so... rude. Second, we’re not gassing him to death. Just giving him a chance to relax. Less ‘gas chamber’ more ‘sauna’” Dick reasoned, “It’ll buy us time. Did Lucius have any ideas on what the hell is going on with him?” 

Barbara shook her head, heading to the computer to set up an automated program, then raiding the supply closet for the halothane. “Every test says he’s clear. This shouldn’t be happening.” The two of them screwed and taped the the tubing on the canisters to the external outflow in the showers. 

Dick sighed as the banging quieted, the hiss of gas confirming that Bruce was sedated, “There is only one person who knows for sure what this is. Looks like I get to go have a chat with Poison Ivy.”


	23. Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Robin brilliant or stupid - let me know what you think in the comments.

A visit to Arkham was never a fun process. Authorization from Commissioner Gordon was a necessary step. And by now it was 2:45 am. The Commissioner usually hated being woken up for Bat problems, but it couldn’t be helped. They were running out of time. 

Robin slid through the jimmied back window of the Gordon home in the dark, taking care to avoid the half empty whiskey bottle standing open on the kitchen counter. Jim was drinking again. Fantastic. 

He padded silently into the living room where Jim was snoring, a glass tilting out of his hand. The TV lit up the room; reruns of MASH. Unceremoniously, Robin tapped the switch on the set and the room went dark. Abruptly, Jim sat up, startled awake by the change in light and sound. He furrowed his brow against the darkness. 

“Good Morning, Commissioner Gordon.” Robin announced his presence, stepping into the dim beam of moonlight at the corner of the room. 

“Like hell it is!” He shot back; his surliness was expected. As he blinked and pulled his glasses back on, he focused on the boy in the corner of the room; Robin’s bruises were visible in large swaths, despite his mask. “Jesus, son! You look like hell!” 

“Thanks” Robin replied dryly. His voice took on a tone of urgency, “I need your help, Commissioner. I need to speak with Pamela Isley.” 

“Where is Batman? Does he know you’re here?”, Jim replied, reluctant to give assent. 

Briefly, Robin considered lying. Or at least withholding. But Jim deserved more, especially because Barbara informed him before he left that Gordon was ‘part of the family’ now. You don’t lie to family. 

Robin cleared his throat, still a little raw, “Batman is locked in a makeshift holding cell in the Batcave. He is still being affected by a version of Poison Ivy’s toxin, but our tests aren’t identifying it. He’s completely lost control. The only person who knows how to help him is Isley.” 

“Still?” Gordon was confused, trying to put the pieces together with a sleep-addled brain. 

“He was the first target.” Robin clarified, pausing, not wanting to reveal too much. The memories were even more raw than his throat. “He...passed the toxin to me and the spread continued from there.” 

“That sonofabitch!” Gordon roared, pulling himself to his feet; the subtext in the explanation was perfectly clear. Robin wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the Commissioner this angry. “That sick bastard raped you, and now you want me to help him?!” 

Robin took a breath, then another, overwhelmed that something he was so ashamed of was laid bare. With a white-knuckle grip on his composure, Robin explained, “Batman was under the influence of the toxin. Just like the others from the Narrows. None of them are responsible for what happened. None of them wanted to hurt me. Batman still doesn’t. He’s been fighting a losing battle to keep me safe for weeks. He lost, tonight. And so _I_ have to fight for him, now. Please help me.” 

“Christ, son...” Gordon began, embarrassed by his own outburst, especially when this _boy_ was keeping his shit together, after everything he’d been through. “Of course I’ll help you. Let’s get in the car.”

On the drive over, Gordon stopped for coffee, “Want anything, kid?” Robin eyed the lightup menu, planning; calculating. 

“A bottle of water and a caramel latte, please.”

Gordon chuckled after ordering, pulling up to the window. “Thirsty?” 

Robin shook his head and smiled, “It’s not for me”. 

They rode the rest of the way in an uncomfortable silence. The pair had never really spent time ‘alone’ together, and the circumstances made idle conversation seem bizarre. So they said nothing, even as they parked in front of the massive asylum and walked in. 

“Oh hell...” Gordon swore as he saw the same older nurse from before, tapping a pen on her teeth at the reception desk. 

With a mischievous chuckle and a wink, Robin took the latte from Gordon’s hands, “Relax. I’ve got this.” 

“Excuse me, Miss?” Robin began, pulling the nurse away from her book of puzzles. He sat the latte on the desk and smiled, sliding it towards her, “Late nights suck, right?” 

The nurse looked up and gasped lightly, clasping he cup and returning the smile. “How can I help you, cutie?” 

Robin gestured to a sign on the desk ‘NO VISITORS TO SECURE WINGS AFTER 9PM’. “I know it’s not policy, but I’m hoping you can help me? It’s important that I talk to Pamela Isley tonight.” As he spoke, he reached out a gloved hand and touched the nurses wrist. She blushed and moved a strand of hair away from her face. 

“I wish I could help you, I really do. You seem sweet. But I got in quite a lot of trouble the last time, when your boss stopped by.” She sighed, “I could lose my job.” 

Robin smiled sympathetically. “I understand. I’d hate to see you move on from a job you’re good at. But I have an idea...” he leaned in, conspiratorial, and slid a small piece of paper across the desk. “This is my secure number. If you let us back, and you lose your job, call me. I’m sure I can find you one with better hours, maybe somewhere I could stop in from time to time?” 

The nurse giggled breathlessly like a woman half her age. Then she nodded. “Alright. But you keep your promise, ok cutie?” She slid her badge into his hands, “You’ll need this to access her room, 206.” 

Robin nodded as the door buzzed open, and the pair walked back into the secure hallway and out of sight. 

“Holy hell, kid.” Gordon remarked, “That was... a different approach than I’m used to seeing. You should teach classes.”

Robin chuckled, “_May mishto les o thud katar i gurumni kai tordjol_. It’s easier to milk a cow that stands still.” 

Gordon shook his head, “Not sure that nurse would have been quite as friendly if she knew you were comparing her to a cow.” He motioned to the door at the end of the hall, “Here we are.”

“I should talk to her alone...” Robin began. 

Jim interrupted, “Absolutely not. She can get under someone’s skin under the best of circumstances, and, let’s be honest kid, you are not at your best. I’ll keep my mouth shut, but you’re not going in there by yourself.” 

Shrugging as he recognized this was not an argument he would win, Robin gently rapped on the door. 

In reply, a soft voice, “Come in!” 

He pushed the door open and Isley exclaimed in delight, “Oh! My blossom has come to visit me, I see.” She glared at Gordon, “But you’ve brought a weed with you. Unfortunate.”

Robin inhaled, trying to be charming. It was admittedly more of an effort when the woman before him was a psychopath, “Consider him a chaperone. I was hoping you might help me?” He offered the bottle of water, “I know you hate the chlorinated stuff in the tap. This is supposed to be from a volcanic spring.”

“So thoughtful.” She stared at him for a moment, then ran a hand over his abused lips. “But it looks like you’ve bruised your petals, darling. I always suspected the Batman would be a coarse lover.”

He closed his eyes, suddenly lightheaded with the effort of keeping the memories at bay. Off to the side, Gordon stiffened and growled. “Now see here...” he began. 

Raising a gloved hand and shaking his head, Robin cut him off. If he lost the illusion of control he would achieve nothing. “I actually hoped we could talk about Batman. I need to help him. He’s not himself.” 

“I think,” she began, gently opening the bottle and taking a sip, “he is more himself now than he has ever been. The chemistry between you two has always been delicious. He just needed a push in the right direction.”

Robins stomach clenched. If that was even remotely true, there was no happy ending waiting, no chance for a return to normal. He brushed it aside. There would be time to figure that out later. “Your plan failed. You wanted to spread your toxin to other men, to punish us. But it’s contained. It’s over.”

Isley pouted, “My seedlings weren’t permitted to take root? How sad. Though, I’m not sure you’re being entirely honest now, are you? They actually let me read the paper from time to time. It’s seems at least one of my seedlings made progress. He prevented an eight year old boy from ever becoming a _man_ \- such detestable creatures. Though the police uprooted my thrall shortly after, so perhaps you are right. It is over.” 

Robin narrowed his eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Laughing, she elaborated, “Batman was my root. When he made you his, you became my blossom. You must’ve been attacked again, because I had seedlings - men who could spread far and wide and take root elsewhere. One of those seedlings killed a boy, admittedly not ideal, and was killed by police in turn. I’m surprised you didn’t know, though maybe nobody wanted to press such a fragile blossom with that much weight.”

He felt frozen in place. Ice cold with rage and confusion. A boy was dead. It was his fault. If he had been stronger, fought off the attackers; or listened to Bruce, stayed put...

“But,” She continued, “I can see this is important to you, little flower. And you are such a beautiful small thing, so I propose a trade. I will tell you how to save your Batman, but you will tell me what it was like...when he took you. The moment that a plant produces a blossom is miraculous - I have to know every detail.” 

“No.” Commissioner Gordon spoke before Robin could even process the request, “Not on your life Isley. That’s sick...”

“Please leave, Commissioner.” Robin interrupted. His voice was flat and distant. Gordon tried to argue, but Robin wouldn’t let him. “It’s ok. I’ve got this.” 

“I’ll be right outside, son.” Gordon said before stepping through the door, feeling like he had just left the boy to the lions


	24. Chrysanthemum

The door latched with a certain finality as Gordon left to wait in the hallway. 

“Much better,” Isley smiled, “That man must smoke like a chimney, I could barely breathe from the stench.” She inhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed. “At the risk of becoming a cliche, quid pro quo, Robin. How many of those bruises did you enjoy receiving?” 

Robin crossed his arms over his chest, fighting back a wince as he was reminded of Bruce yanking his shoulder out, then Alfred fixing it, earlier this evening, “I may be young, but I’m not stupid. What’s to stop you from not keeping to your part of our little agreement? It would be very disappointing if you were lying to me.” 

Isley raised a hand to her chest, pretending to be offended, “Never, little blossom!” She tore at the seam of her sleeve, just an inch, and produced a vial of purple liquid as she smiled, clutching it firmly in her palm, “The antidote. The guards here happily amend their searches with the barest bits of attention. So starved for beauty, and touch. It’s pathetic. But it is something to use to an advantage - as you undoubtably know. Now, I want to know every second of detail. For scientific purposes, of course. I’ll derive no pleasure from your description, Little Blossom.” 

“And here I thought you said you _ wouldn’t_ lie to me.” Robin rolled his eyes, tiring of this exchange already, “That isn’t the antidote for Batman. If it were a simple chemical compound we would have manufactured it already. There is more to this - I need you to tell me.” 

Abruptly, Isley stood and moved close to Robin, pouting as she draped her arms over his shoulders. “You really have been trained by the best. The truth is...I don’t know. I never tested a way to counteract the desire for my roots to produce blossoms. It seemed to go against nature. Like farms of chrysanthemums enslaved for their beauty - they keep them from the sun until they’re ready to force them to flower. It’s heartbreaking, seeing men destroy the delicate balance, stunting a hardy plant for commercial gain, when they should be free, because that is just what plants do; they flower. And then they die.” 

She smashed the glass vial in her hand, jamming the shards deep between the armored plates of Robins uniform and into his skin. Instantly the world became hazy in front of his eyes and his knees buckled. Ivy laughed as Commissioner Gordon rushed in, steadying the boy as much as possible. “You’re right, it wasn’t an antidote. It was a concentrated belladonna extract. I’m largely immune, but you? Such a small amount won’t kill you, I’m afraid. But it does bring an end to this tedious conversation. You’re not as charming as you believe.” 

Jim heaved the boy to his feet, bringing him to the hallway as the asylum security team rushed in, securing Ivy as she cackled maniacally. 

Robin sank down the tile wall in the hallway, breathing erratically. Voices echoing on the edge of his hearing. The dim fluorescent lights above him were excruciatingly bright. Gordon crouched down into the center of his vision, “We have to get you to a hospital, son.”

Fighting through the heart racing hallucinations, Robin shook his head, thickly replying, “No. I’m fine. Just take me home, please.” 

Surprised at how light Robin was, Gordon carried him to the car and laid him on the back seat, just as the boys muscle spasms began. Every police instinct told him to get this kid to a doctor. Instead, he called Barbara. 

“Hi daddy!” She began.

“He’s hurt,” he replied. “What do I do?”

Barbara’s voice shifted immediately. The light, girlish tones were gone, replaced with a commanders brusque, “Is he breathing and stable?” 

“I...I think he’s having a seizure. He’s been dosed with... with something. He needs a hospital...” 

“No. Listen carefully. Bring him home. To the front of the house. The garage will be open. Pull through and we’ll be ready to take him. We can handle this.” Barbara was stern. 

“But...” the boy in his back seat twisted and moaned, his breath hitching and hiccuping against involuntary sobs. “Ok Barbara. I hope you’re right.” 

By the time Jim pulled through the garage filled with trendy coupes and classic hotrods, the sun was peaking up over the horizon, and Robin had stopped twitching, his breathing even and rhythmic. He was asleep. Barbara and Alfred were waiting beside a gurney, medkits in hand.

As the car stopped, Robin yawned and stretched, blinking blearily. It reminded Jim of when Barbara was a child, and would fall asleep on long car rides. She always had a sense when they were home, and would stir as soon as the trip was over. 

_He _is _ a child. Still a child and tangling with the likes of Poison Ivy, _ he thought, acutely aware of the wrongness of it all. 

Barbara opened the back door and eyed the pair suspiciously. Robin was scratching his head and smiling a timid smile. Jim gave an embarrassed chuckle, “It was a lot worse just a little while ago. I promise I didn’t panic.” 

“Belladonna” Robin said simply and yawned again, shrugging and rolling his eyes. Alfred and Barbara sighed in relief and offered help out of the back seat. 

“Why didn’t you say so, Dad?” Barbara chided. 

“I thought that was massively poisonous!” He declared, feeling like a know-nothing school boy. 

“Luckily for us, sir, only in significantly large quantities,” Alfred clarified. “The young master will be right as rain after a good meal and a shower.” 

The jovial mood shifted drastically the deeper they went into the manor, Gordon hurrying along behind, impressed by how fluidly they all fell into their roles. 

“Updates?” Robin asked, taking the lead. 

Barbara sighed, “Nothing good. We had to knock Bruce back down with another halothane burst about two hours ago. I don’t think we can keep doing that, Leslie has concerns about his heart function if we keep gassing him with anesthesia like that. Lucius wants a recent blood sample _ without _ the gas, but, obviously, that’s problematic. STAR Labs finally got off their asses and sent a message, but its pnothing we didn’t already know. We’re... at a bit of an impasse. How’d you fare?” 

“It was a mixed bag,” Robin began. “I don’t think Isley has a reversal compound, and I don’t think fixing this will be as simple as an antidote.”

He smirked as the group descended to the cave. “But... I think she gave away more than she realized.”


	25. Honor and Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foul language afoot.

Gordon was so enveloped in the efficiency of the walking debrief that he almost didn’t notice where they were. 

Startled, he looked up at the vaulted stone ceiling that stretched out of view; the computers, gadgets that lined the walls. For the first time ever, he found himself in the Batcave. 

He watched as Robin nonchalantly stripped off his tunic and sat at the computer. The contusions from the boy’s face continued down his back and arms, mingling with scars, new and old. In the blue light of the screen, he looked far older than his years. It was easy to forget he was just a child. 

Wordlessly, Alfred attended to him, carefully pulling out the glass shards imbedded in his side and dropping them into a kidney dish. The boy didn’t even flinch when he got three stitches, leaning to the side slightly to let Alfred tape some gauze to the wound. 

“So what’s the big clue, Mr. Detective?” Barbara joked, lightly clipping him on the shoulder with her fist for good measure. The boy let out an exaggerated “Ow!” And glared up where she stood. 

“Absolutely not! Do not answer that question, young man, until you have at least eaten something. Need I remind you it’s been over 24 hours since your last meal?” Alfred was quick for a man his age, and he had already returned with sandwiches and milk. Enough for everyone. 

To Gordon, the exchanges were shocking in their mundanity. The doting grandfather. The petulant big sister. And Dick, the son trying to fill shoes entirely too big for him yet. 

Dick picked up a sandwich wedge and worried the corner with his teeth, taking mouse-small bites, clearly eating performatively under Alfred’s watchful eye. He tried to hide the wince as he washed it down with some milk, but it was obvious from across the room, where Gordon still stood. 

The boy slid into the role of leader effortlessly, “Barbara, can you patch me through to Lucius? I want to run a crazy idea by him. Alfred, see if Leslie has any ideas on how to keep the big, bad, Bat safe and secure _without_ making his heart explode. Commissioner, feel free to make yourself at home, I’m not sure how long this will take.” 

Gordon almost didn’t realize he was being addressed. He felt like the definition of a third wheel; purposeless amid such a refined machine. 

Troops dispatched, Dick spared himself a moment of self-indulgence. He dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily, trembling. This was too much for a kid. Gordon was reminded of a Captain he once had - damn good cop. Shot himself in the head two weeks after his promotion. He couldn’t handle the pressure. Tragedy and responsibility are like poisons, too, he supposed. People can only take so many doses before it kills them. Jim was chilled by a thought, _How close is this boy to the edge of what he can take?_ He’d seen many good men lose the good fight that way. _Too many. _ He wasn’t sure how to keep Dick from sharing their fate. 

As if to add insult to injury, a deep, furious growl started from the barricaded room behind them. Dick swiveled in the chair to face the sound. 

“Great. Someone’s awake.” Barbara remarked, covering the microphone of her headset. 

It was like witnessing a force of nature; a hurricane or a tornado. The low rumble turned into a near demonic shriek. Then it became clear the man was throwing his body against the door. The hinges were pulling loose. Profanities and vile insults echoed in the stone chamber. 

“I’ll make you drink my cum you worthless little shit! You are the definition of incompetence! I should have left you on the streets! It’s a good thing your parents are dead, they’d be ashamed at what a slut you’ve become!”

“The door needs more reinforcement.” Dick was terse, but not rude. His words carried enough weight that they seemed to drown out the unholy sounds for just a moment. 

“I have Lucius for you, now.” Barbara handed over the headset to Dick, lending Alfred a hand with strengthening the beleaguered door. 

Dick cupped his hand over the microphone so his call could be heard more clearly. “Lucius. The situation is deteriorating here, but I have an idea. Hear me out, because it’s a doozy. Ivy said she didn’t have an antidote, but she _did_ bring up plant life cycle on more than one occasion. Plants root, flower, fruit...then die. What if Bruce is stuck in a similar cycle? Like a forced chrysanthemum being held in a state before blossoming. And what if we... accelerate the cycle?”

“It doesn’t sound like you have time for euphemisms, Robin. What are you saying?” Lucius wanted to be very certain. 

“I’m saying,” Dick inhaled sharply, “we kill Batman. Just for a little while. Complete the cycle, get him off the loop and then bring him back. Does it hold water?” 

Lucius waited a beat, thinking it over, trying to have a cohesive thought over the maddening screeching noises, “Yeah. I think it does. But it’s not a guarantee. I’d go with a couple of doses of digoxin. Spaced apart if you can manage. It has a fairly easily available counter agent. I’d have a defibrillator in hand, too. This could just kill him, though. I’d want to run tests...”

Another loud boom against the door. One of the three hinges pinged off and clattered to the ground. 

Dick took a deep breath, “We’re out of time. Wish us luck”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple more chapters (and maybe an epilogue?) to go. Are things unraveling in a way you expected? Other thoughts? Drop them in the comments!


	26. Marimē

“Here’s the plan. Batman is stuck in a biochemical signaling loop. We can’t stop it with an antidote, so we have to reset his system.”

After a few more minutes on the phone with Lucius, Robin had solidified the finer points of his plan, and reported the details to an admittedly horrified group. 

Another blow to the door, another hinge gone, the barricade started to shift. 

Robin continued with renewed urgency. “Alfred, you’ll coordinate. We need to give Bruce 3 doses of digoxin, one every 5 minutes. You’ll call out times and have the resuscitation supplies ready for phase two. Barbara, you and I are rodeo clowns. He’s going to come out of there pissed and gunning for me. We’ll need to pull his attention back and forth. We have to make it ten minutes without dying.”

“Totally doable.” In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Barbara smiled, adrenaline and anticipation obscuring the actual danger. 

“Commissioner,” Robin placed a modified dart gun in Jim’s hands, “You do not have to do this, but we could use some marksmanship. When Alfred signals, hit Batman with a preloaded dart. We’ll keep him from getting too close to you. Once he’s down we have to wait until his heart stops, then pull him back.”

Jim nodded, situating the gun comfortably in his hands, fighting to keep them steady. 

Robin pulled out his escrima sticks and took a wide stance, shifting his weight back and forth to keep his momentum going. 

He exhaled sharply, pulling his focus entirely in the moment. Nothing else could matter. With a final resounding crash, the door and barricade gave way, and a growling, animalistic shadow of the man they all once loved and respected stood in their view, snarling and panting. He locked his eyes on Robin and charged forward. 

“Dose one, now, sir!” Alfred called to Jim, who took aim and landed the first dart in Bruce’s flank. Bruce continued the pursuit unfazed. 

Both Batgirl and Robin lithely ducked and dodged around the openness of the cave, occasionally throwing batarangs at their target to keep him angry and interested. 

Their antics brought them a step too close to the Commissioner, and Robin lobbed his escrima stick at Batman, hoping to land a suitably distracting hit. 

In one shockingly fluid motion, Batman caught the projectile and hurled it back, the weighted stick clipping the boy in the head. He instantly crumpled to the floor. 

Impossibly fast, Bruce was on him. Robin was disoriented but not out, deftly blocking most of his mentors blows, kicking out in a back handspring and finding his feet on the floor again. 

“Dose two, now!” Alfred called over the din. 

Another successful shot. Batman staggered back, slowing significantly. His fighting style became more frenzied and desperate as he clawed at Robins tunic, shredding it under the strain, then digging his nails into the boy’s skin. Robin struggled to put some space between the two of them, and, as if on cue, Batgirl sailed in with a perfectly executed flying kick, sending Bruce sliding off to the side. 

Batgirl and Robin circled their weakening quarry. The medicine was starting to take hold, and Bruce’s heart was slowing. 

“From the day I took you in, I wanted you,” Batman began, crawling towards Robin as he slurred, “I could tell you were a slut, even then. I put cameras in your bedroom, in your shower. I’d watch the videos late at night and imagine how good you’d feel.” 

Robin forgot to breathe. He tried to remind himself that _this_ was not Bruce. Not the man who patiently but persistently taught him everything he knows. Not the man who held him after nightmares, letting him sob wet patches onto his shoulder. Not the partner who protected him and respected him. _This_ was not his friend, his father. 

In the growing silence, as Bruce laid on the floor and struggled to pull himself closer, Alfred announced, “Dose three”. 

Jim hovered over the Batman’s laboring body and fired a direct shot into his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. 

Robin shook his head, trying to bring himself back into focus. There was no time for anything else. But he couldn’t get his thoughts to cooperate. Image after violent image flitted in his minds eye, replaying the past few weeks again and again, and he felt not entirely _there_ or whole or real. The familiarity of the Batcave felt wrong. Foreign. He suddenly felt so weak, so fragile. Like a breath could send the pieces of himself off into the wind, scattered and irretrievable. 

The group waited for instruction, but Robin was frozen, staring at the body of his dead mentor, barely breathing. Jim stepped over to the boy, brusquely shaking him by the shoulders, crouching into his field of vision. “We’re not done yet, son. You said there is a phase two to all this, and we need you.”

Trembling, Robin nodded. “Right, right.” He knelt down, rolling Bruce onto his back, tilting his neck, and starting chest compressions. “Push the Digibind, get the AED ready.”

Commissioner Gordon moved the boy’s shaking hands away and replaced them with his own, taking up the task of CPR seamlessly. “I’ve got this,” Jim explained, “you manage the breaths”. 

They made room for Alfred to apply the AED patches. “Right back, now!” He called before pressing the large orange button labeled “shock”. 

Bruce’s body heaved and relaxed. No change. Jim resumed compressions, Robin resumed breaths. 

“And again.” Alfred said. 

Another shock, but this time, Bruce’s eyes fluttered. Gordon checked for a pulse and nodded. “He’s back.” 

Bruce started taking massive, full breaths, his eyes opening and scanning the assembled group. His gaze fixed on Robin, who was trembling, hands balled into fists and tears in his eyes. The boy screamed in terror as he was pulled into a fierce, loving hug. “I’m sorry, chum. I’m so, so sorry” Bruce sobbed. 

But Dick didn’t return the gesture, nor relax. His body was stiff and unyielding in the embrace. “S’ok” he managed, before prying himself from the grip. “Welcome back”.


	27. Pomana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everyone just wants this all to go back to normal, but what is normal, now?”
> 
> Listening to: Natural by Imagine Dragons
> 
> “Deep inside me, I'm fading to black, I'm fading  
Took an oath by the blood of my hand, won't break it  
I can taste it, the end is upon us, I swear  
Gonna make it  
I'm gonna make it”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter and an epilogue after this. Thank you all so much for reading. This has been an incredible adventure!

Over the next few days, Batman returned to his usual duties, sans sidekick. The tension between Bruce and Dick was practically poison - when Dick was up and about, that is. He spent much of his time now in his room, staring at the wall. 

“Sir, I am gravely concerned about the Young Master,” Alfred began as he cleared the breakfast dishes in front of Bruce. “He barely eats, his bed is frequently unused, and any conversations I try and initiate are abrupt and perfunctory. This is not the boisterous young boy we’ve all grown to love. He needs help beyond what rest can give him. The doctor from the hospital provided a list of counselors...”

“No.” Bruce interrupted as he took a final sip of his coffee and stood. “He would have to hide too much from a counselor for it to be useful. He’s fine, Alfred. It’s been days. He’s just dragging this out. He’s more resilient than you’re giving him credit for. When he’s up, tell him I want to talk to him. His ‘leave of absence’ is over.” 

Alfred sighed as Bruce retreated to his study. The Master was a brilliant man, but empathy was always a struggle for him. Of course Master Richard needed time, and a counselor. Alfred wouldn’t even begrudge the boy inpatient treatment, though he would never accept. The butler loaded a tray with a few of Dick’s favorites and headed for the boy’s room. He rapped gently on the solid oak door before pushing his way in and setting the breakfast beside the tray of untouched dinner from the night before. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but Master Bruce has requested an audience in his study.” 

Dick was sitting stiffly in an overstuffed chair by the large gothic windows in his room, staring blankly through the glass. His blue eyes shifted to acknowledge Alfred, the bruises on the boy’s face only a whisper now. “Thanks. I’ll be down soon.” He replied, his voice carrying none of the boyhood strength the Butler was accustomed to. With a nod and a bow, Alfred scooped up the uneaten supper tray and backed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. 

Slowly, aching, Dick stood, eyeing the meal warily and swallowing thickly. Was he hungry? He couldn’t tell anymore. All of his senses seemed dull and useless. Suddenly he remembered some stories from classic literature Bruce made him read. Suspiciously often, the heroine perished from a broken heart. Dick had thought the idea ridiculous. Who dies from being too sad? 

Maybe it wasn’t just fiction. Maybe this is what it feels like. 

He shook his head, trying to focus - a task that had been nearly impossible recently. He felt like he was drowning in everything that had happened. Everyone acted like it hadn’t happened. He wanted to - more than anything else he wanted to pretend this had all been an illusion, or a page from the Ancient Greek tragedies he had also been forced to read. If only horrors were contained to stories, like Medea consuming her children. Pages you could put on a shelf and allow to collect dust. 

Hesitating, he pushed his door open and stood in the entrance. He’d scarcely left his room, and avoided Bruce at all costs. And now the man wanted to talk to him? The idea brought him to the edge of panic. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to even set foot on the marble floor of the hallway. 

But he did. Inexorably drawn to answer any command given by Bruce. Wasn’t that what caused all of this in the first place? His unrelenting need to set himself on fire to keep Bruce warm? 

He didn’t even realize he had padded his way down to the large, carved double doors of Bruce’s study. Old, unanswered questions swirled around him as he turned the handle, _Was Bruce always an unsafe person, like Ivy said? Was it the toxin’s lies or a moment of truth when Bruce told him he was under surveillance every moment of his life, especially the private ones? Did Bruce really ever sit alone at night, drooling over the prospect of forbidden things?_

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?” Dick’s voice was still croaking, though perhaps now from disuse rather than injury. He settled back into the safe distance of formality. Like when he was nine and first came to this horrible, foreboding house. 

Bruce looked up an acknowledged him, “Yes. Shut the door.”

Dick shuddered at the prospect. Hesitating. Bruce cocked an eyebrow, waiting for compliance. He shrugged impatiently, “Or don’t. Orders haven’t suited you recently, have they?”

Chastised, Dick looked at his feet as he shuffled them in discomfort. He wanted to scream that this wasn’t his fault. That he had _saved_ Bruce AND Mateo. That he had figured it all out in time. Instead he replied. “No, sir.” 

Bruce shifted in his leather chair, folding his hands. “I think you’ve had more than enough time to heal. The best thing for you, now, is to get back to normal. You’ll be going on patrol with me tonight. A simple scouting mission. You can handle it.” 

Panic bubbled in Dick’s chest. “With respect, sir, I disagree. My head’s not in the game and I would be a liability.” 

Sighing in disappointment, Bruce stood and walked toward Dick, placing his hands on his shoulders. The weight of it was overwhelming to Dick. The smell of Bruce so close, nauseating. “You have two options. You can trust me, or Robin is finished. It doesn’t work any other way. This is a very rare second chance for you, Dick. You disobeyed direct orders and got yourself hurt. I should bench you indefinitely. But I recognize that you also made it right, with some impressive detective work and personal fortitude. You can do better than to fall short, now.” 

Dick was trembling, fear and anger swirling into a confusing cloud that was difficult to control. “If you remember, Bruce, you didn’t trust me, first. If you had just owned _your_ fuck up and talked to me, this could have been contained from the word go. And how can I possibly trust you if I don’t even feel like I know you, anymore? You said some things...” he sighed, too deep now to stop the flood of emotions, “Is it true you have cameras in my room? In my _bathroom_? Did you really sit alone at night watching me?”

Bruce tightened his jaw. “Accusations and foul language do not become you, Dick. Yes. There are cameras in your rooms, and yes, I watched you. To keep you safe. Because just being the ward of Bruce Wayne puts you in considerable danger. Being Robin ups the ante. I have only _ever_ tried to protect you.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled between the pair, the ticking a clock marking the moments that neither spoke. “Maybe you’re right.” Bruce finally spoke, rage at the edge of his voice, “Maybe this trust _is_ too broken now. Robin is finished. He was finished the moment you disobeyed me and an eight year old boy was brutally murdered as a result. And I think you can find a better home in which to _convalesce_, if my restrictions are too unreasonable for you. You can take your bike. Call Alfred with a forwarding address so he can send along your things. Now, get out.” 

Dick forgot to breathe. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Unmoving, he whispered as Bruce sat back down, “What?”

Bruce waved a dismissive hand, returning to his work. 

Dick couldn’t choke on his rage another second, “You can’t kick me out! I’m sixteen for fucks sake. You can’t do this to me!” 

Bruce didn’t look up, and flatly replied, “You’re right. I’ll have my lawyer send papers along as soon as you get set up somewhere. You’ll be emancipated. Congratulations.” 

Numb, in disbelief, Dick turned and exited the study, closing his eyes and shutting the door. When he turned, he was surprised to see Alfred, eavesdropping, with tears in his eyes. “I will speak to the Master at once!” He declared, “This is unacceptable. He can not abandon you, this is not your fault!” 

Dick pulled Alfred into a tight hug, the first wanted contact since his world had shattered. “I’m sorry Alfred,” his breath hitched. He wouldn’t cry. Not now. “It’s ok. I’ll be ok.” Dick forced a smile, “Besides, it’s not like you can’t visit me, right?” 

Before Alfred could reply, Dick headed for the garage, finding his discarded shoes along the way. He pulled his motorcycle out onto the gravel and took off, leaving the Manor, and everything else in his life, behind him. 

—-

It was nearly noon when the rain started. Ice cold and unrelenting. Now that he was in the city, Dick decided what he needed more than wheels was cash. He rolled up to a notorious chop shop on the west side, his expensive motorcycle drawing attention immediately. 

“Hey! Whatcha got there? Need to get rid of that?”

Dick nodded to the mechanic in the garage. The man continued, standing and wiping his hands on a filthy rag, “Wait here. I’ll go get the boss-man.” 

A very tall, very round man approached, eyeing the bike lustfully. “Damn son. Where’d you bag this at? Never mind, I don’t want to know. I can give you...7 for it.”

Dick balked, and was suddenly reminded of his father haggling with townies for their family’s first car. “Never mind, I’m not going below 15. You can turn this around for 30 easy. It’s worth 50 and you know it.”

Boss-man chuckled, his belly jiggling disconcertingly. “Kid’s got balls, huh? I’ll give you 10. Bike that expensive will be hard to move. I’m sure whoever the... previous owners were are going to be looking for her.”

Dick shrugged, “Fine. 10 will work.” He didn’t want to draw too much attention, and he hoped $10,000 would be enough for a clean start. 

“Go on and wait in the waiting room.” Boss-man shook Dick’s hand, the man’s sausage sized fingers were vaguely sticky. “Get some coffee, get yourself comfortable. Gotta do some... accounting for a minute, then I’ll get you your cash.” 

Dick wafted the coffee with suspicion; the pot smelled bitter and burnt. The shop didn’t often get legitimate customers, he reasoned. On the table, a paper from last week, the headline read, “Young Boy Slain in Brutal Attack” and the above-fold photo was of a blood-soaked woman, screaming. Deep in the article, the funeral arrangements were listed, “In lieu of flowers, the family asks for donations toward final expenses”. Dick tore the section out, pocketing the address. Maybe he could try and send some money along. It was the least he could do. 

Boss-man opened the door to the waiting room, the bell above the it chiming brightly. “Here you go, 7, as promised.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, “We _agreed_ on 10.”

Two heavy hitters flanked the round man, approaching Dick menacingly. “I think you’ll take 7 and be happy, kid.” 

Angrily, Dick snatched the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. “Fine. Seven. Thanks for nothing.” He turned on his heel and left the room, bowing his head against the rain. 

Boss-man tutted to his cronies, “Kids these days. No manners. Follow him. Get my money back.” 

Dick was 2 blocks away when he heard the slaps of rain soaked shoes behind him. He stopped and turned abruptly, facing the two “mechanics” from before.   
“What now?” Dick lamented. 

“Boss-man don’t appreciate kids without manners.” The shorter of the two men swung a crowbar in his hands, “He’s gonna need his cash back, little shit.”

Before Dick could move, a red and yellow streak flashed between him and the mooks. When he blinked again, one man had a crushing wedgie and was ass up on the pavement. The other had taken off running back the way he came. A familiar, friendly voice laughed, “That never gets old!” 

Dick’s face lit up, almost bright enough to chase the miserable fall rain away, “Wally!” He reached out to hug his friend, but Wally stepped back, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Hey. Sorry. It’s just... still weird. You know? Alfie called me. Says the Bathole chucked you out? I thought I’d find you and we’d get into trouble together, but it looks like you started without me.” 

Dick nodded. He was very aware that their usual banter was forced, uneasy. “I missed you. Hungry?”

Wally smiled. “Always!” 

The pair walked in silence to a nearby corner diner. The waitress eyed the soaking wet kids in disdain, “With you in a minute!” 

“Where’ve you been, Wally? You fell off the planet.” Dick began, cutting to the chase, drying his face with some napkins from the table. 

Wally smirked, about to start with a joke, but he couldn’t keep it up. His face fell. “I just, It’s my fault, you know. That you got hurt. I was dumb and you almost died. Everything feels wrong now, man. Like there’s no going back.”

Dick tried to reach out for his friends arm, but Wally pulled away. “This wasn’t your fault, Wally. None of it. Not yours. Not mine. Not even Bruce’s, though that would be convenient.” Wally chuckled lightly as Dick continued, lowering his voice, “It was _her_, and she’s in Arkham with no privileges. She’s not getting out legally any time soon.”

“It’s not just that,” Wally sighed after the boys ordered some coffee, “When I, when... damnit. When I grabbed you, and I kissed you, I didn’t hate it. I should, right? Pheromones and consent and all that garbage. I didn’t hate kissing you and it’s got me all fucked up, Robbie.”

Dick stared, wide eyed, trying to process any of what Wally was saying, trying to formulate a response. Wally beat him to it, “Shit. I’m putting all this on you and you’ve got enough going on. I’m sorry, man. I just... I have to figure this out, right?” He slid out from the booth, starting to leave. 

Dick grabbed his arm and Wally pulled it out of his grip sharply. “I’m sorry. I suck. I should be here for you and I can’t. Cause I keep wanting to kiss you again but I don’t want to, either. I’m sorry. I’ll get my shit together. Promise.” 

And like that, suddenly, Dick was alone again.


	28. Immolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter before the epilogue, which I’ll edit onto this chapter when it’s finished. I hope you have all enjoyed reading as much as I’ve enjoyed writing!

Alfred paced in front of the study doors. He felt as though he was pulled in a thousand directions. Should he pursue Master Richard? Confront Master Bruce? Call the police? He was, in a word, frantic.

He settled on calling for help, first. He picked up the receiver of a nearby telephone and leafed through the Rolodex, searching for a name that might jump out at him. He considered calling Dr. Thompkins. But no, it was a clinic night for her, and calls on those nights were emergency only. 

Was this an emergency? He wasn’t sure. 

At the back of the index, he found it at last. “West, Wallace” annotated with several phone numbers, and a crudely rendered cartoon of the boy that Master Richard had drawn many years ago, labeled “Wall-man”. 

The phone rang several times before reaching a recorded greeting “Hey! It’s the Wall-man! You know what to do! **beep**”

“Hello Master Wallace. I’m afraid Master Richard has been compelled to find new lodgings effective immediately. It would be greatly appreciated if you would intercept him and offer assistance. He...could use a friend.” 

As he disconnected the call, he heard the study door open and shut behind him. A rage he had not felt since he was young and foolish overwhelmed him. “Bruce Thomas Wayne! What in the Bloody Hell have you done?” 

He rounded on his heel and came face to face with Bruce; his eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks tear-stained. “There is nothing you can say to make me feel worse, Alfred. Save it. I had to keep him safe. It was the only way.” 

“Safe?!” Alfred would certainly _not_ ‘save it’. “You have robbed a vulnerable boy of the only support he has in this world! You have sent him out in the cold with no money, no resources, only the clothes on his back, into a dangerous city. He is not well! But you were too absorbed in your own pain to see it! As usual, sir!” 

“He would never have gotten better here, Alfred! I’ve destroyed any trust he had for me. He accused me of _always_ wanting to hurt him. He called me out on my own lack of trust in him. Any hope of a functioning relationship is gone. Unless I cut ties, unless I sent him away, he would stay. And I’m afraid it would’ve killed him. Imagine living with your rapist, every day, and not even being allowed to be angry at them. Having to share meals with them, work side by side with them. It would have eaten him alive. Now, he can be angry at me. I’ve given him permission to hate me. He needs that, now.” In spite of himself, Bruce’s tears flowed freely. 

Alfred shook his head. “Did you learn nothing from this entire ordeal? You’ve said it yourself - trust is earned. You won’t even attempt to earn it back from the one boy on earth who saw you like a father. Are we to let him fend for himself until he finds his way back to us?” 

Bruce straightened abruptly, pushing his cheeks dry with his palms, ashamed and swallowing the emotion. “_If_ he does. I’ll be downstairs, Alfred.” 

Sinking into a nearby chair, head in his hands, Alfred replied, “Very good, sir.”

—-

Commissioner Gordon was walking through the bullpen, getting ready to leave for the day, when he overheard one of his Detectives on the phone, condescending and patronizing. The others in the vicinity were stifling giggles. He walked over as soon as the call was disconnected. 

“What the hell was that?” He demanded 

“Oh, sir! I didn’t see you there. Just a frequent caller, sir. She always has some fairly entertaining reasons for getting in touch. A few days ago she called to say she saw the ghost of her neighbors murdered kid. Turned out to be steam on her bathroom mirror. Tonight she says there is a boy on the rooftop across the way with binoculars, peering into windows. In the pitch black. In the rain. And she forgot her glasses. Just one of those callers that brightens your day, amirite?” 

An unfamiliar dread inexplicably tightened in Jim’s chest as he nodded and laughed half heartedly. “What building was she calling from? Maybe I’ll drop by, do some community outreach.”

“She’s in 6575 Sadler. Apartment 15B. But the ‘kid’ is supposed to be on the next building over. Good luck, sir.”

Gordon tried to shake off the feeling that something was wrong, that something was familiar about the address. He swore in frustration and decided to check it out anyway. Just to put his mind at ease. He wouldn’t get to sleep if he didn’t. 

He pulled up behind the building in question and entered the open loading dock, taking the service elevator as far up as he could. It was just another two flights to the roof. The access door banged in the storm winds, and rain poured down the top level steps. Someone was definitely here. 

He pulled out his gun and held it low. If there really were a Peeping Tom out here, he was in no mood for niceties. He stalked out onto the rain-soaked tar roof, and stopped abruptly when he saw a familiar, small figure, sitting on the edge, legs dangling out, sobbing. 

Dick Grayson. 

“I hope you don’t plan on taking that shortcut down to street level, son!” He called over the din. 

Dick looked up suddenly, blue eyes red rimmed and reflecting the dim security lighting by the door. “Commissioner? What are you doing here?” 

The rain began to let up, and Jim holstered his weapon before approaching the boy cautiously, “Could ask you the same thing. Does Bruce know you’re here?” 

He sighed, “Doubtful. He fired me today. Kicked me out, too. So, if you know of any reasonable apartments that rent to soon-to-be-emancipated teenagers, I’d love to schedule a walkthrough.” 

“What are you talking about?” Gordon sat down on the edge next to Dick, but facing away, feet firmly planted on the solid rooftop. 

Dick sniffled and looked into the dark distance. “I was told that my ‘failure to follow orders and insubordination directly resulted in the rape and murder of an eight year old boy,’. And that I’ve broken too much trust. If I had just stayed put like a good soldier, followed orders, he’d still be alive. 

“I came here to check on the kid’s family, I guess. They live in that building, over there. Eight floors down. On the corner, with the lights on. They’re....not doing great. I slid some cash under the door to help with burial and stuff earlier today. Mom’s been in the kids bedroom all night, brushing and rearranging the kids teddy bear collection. Dad drank a bottle of whiskey and passed out on the couch a couple of hours ago. An entire family, destroyed. My fault.” His tears started to spill over again, and he angrily rubbed them away with a clenched fist. 

“Hey,” Jim said sternly, planting a hand firmly on Dick’s shoulder, “This is _ not _ your fault. You did not do this.” He floundered for words of comfort, but found only empty platitudes. 

“Do you believe in destiny, sir? I didn’t, before. But now I think I’m just destined to go through life hurting the people around me. No matter what I do, it all ends in disaster. The harder I try to help, the worse things get. Now I’m homeless, jobless, a murderer-by-proxy; no parents, no extended family. My best friend is too embarrassed and ashamed to even hug me. I just keep screwing up while everyone around me saves the world. ‘The definition of incompetence,’ Bruce called me.” 

Jim clenched his teeth. How the hell could Bruce just throw this kid away like he was worthless? “Sounds like you really found the bottom, son.” 

He chuckled mirthlessly, “You could say that.” 

Gordon shrugged, “Bottom’s a great place to build a new foundation, you know. Do it up right. Your way, not his.

“You have a gift, one I hardly ever see anymore. You are ... good. No agenda, no ulterior motives. You just want to do what’s right. What’s best for people. That’s why this hurts so damn much. Your heart’s too big for your own good, kid. Bruce sees that as a weakness because good people like you can’t be used, not for long. You’ll always find north, no matter what. You’ll keep tearing pieces off yourself to save everyone around you. Because you actually, really care. People like you are goddamned rare. It’s always going to hurt. But don’t change. Don’t give up. Because for every life you feel like you’ve failed, you’ve saved countless others. 

“I remember, one of the first times I saw you in action. You and Batman were working a fire where the GCFD was spread too thin. You single handedly pulled 6 kids from the building. One little girl was crying hysterically. Her cat was still up there. And you went back for it. ‘Stupid, crazy kid,’ I thought. ‘It’s a damn cat.’ But you found that fat, lazy thing and gave it CPR, then handed it over to that little girl and showed her a miracle; a real hero. _That’s_ you. Be that. Not what Batman wanted you to be. Look on the bright side - he’s finished with you, and you made it out alive. Now, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” 

Grinning despite himself, tears pouring down his face, twinkling in the distantly rising sun, Dick threw his arms around Jim. “Thank you.”

Gordon fought to keep balance on the ledge, returning the ferocious embrace, “Anytime, son. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to take the long way down. Coming?”

———-  
Epilogue  
18 Months Later  
———-

Barbara flopped down on be couch next to her father a video pulled up on her phone, “Hey dad, have you seen this?”

Adjusting his glasses, Jim tapped the ‘play’ button and cupped the device in his hands. 

“In local news; Move over Batman? For our sister city, maybe! A new vigilante calling himself ‘Nightwing’ has been spotted in the nearby town of Blüdhaven. But it’s not all cracking skulls and taking names. Local sources say this is a modern hero with a modern approach. I’m joined now with Marcia Tapper, head of the harm-reduction program , Better Days. Ms. Tapper, has the appearance of Nightwing affected your operations here. 

‘Yes! In the best possible way. He’s been instrumental in providing our harm reduction services, like narcan delivery systems and fresh syringes, to some of the most dangerous parts of our city where a lot of our volunteers are afraid to go. We’ve also seen a significant decrease in deliveries of fentanyl laced drugs, which is ultimately leading to far fewer fatal overdoses in our communities. We don’t know how he’s doing it, but with results like this, I’m not going to question it.’

There you have it. A vigilante focused not only on stopping bad guys, but also on saving hearts and minds. I’m Vickie Vale, and this is Gotham News” 

Gordon chuckled to himself in satisfaction, scrubbing the video back and pausing over the image of a young masked man with dark hair leaping from a rooftop. He whispered to the picture, “I’m proud of you, son”

He was startled from his thoughts when the doorbell rang. 

Barbara hopped up from the cushions, wiping away her happy tears, “Don’t worry Dad, I’ve got the door”


End file.
